Herodotus
by Simone Lyon
Summary: Alternate ending to "Under the Radar".  But there's no character death or anything.  Peter and Neal go to great lengths to find Adler and keep their loved ones safe.
1. Chapter 1

Some background information before we begin: I started thinking about this story after watching "Burke's Seven". I had already thought about the U-boat and some amzing treasure found inside of it. Of course, I had no idea that it would be as fantastic as what it came out to be in "Under the Radar". So, I had already written most of this, but I changed up some of it to go along with "Under the Radar"'s plotline. But basically, it's a big, alternate ending story. And the treasure isn't the same. But you'll read about that later on. Just wanted to share that with y'all. Hope y'all enjoy!

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><p>CHAPTER ONE<p>

"Death is a delightful hiding place for weary men."

March 9, 2011

12:02 AM

Neal gasped as his head broke the surface and he took a much needed gulp of air. Arms flailing, he breathed hard for a few seconds as he blinked water from his eyes. While treading hard in order to keep himself a float as waves rolled over him, he looked around wildly. All around, there were pieces of wreckage; wooden parts of the archaic submarine. But there was no sign of his companion.

"Peter!"

The only answer that greeted him was the lapping of water against the debris. Neal continued to look around, the starlight and faint moonlight helping his vision some. "Peter!"

Neal slapped the water in frustration. Peter had been right behind him! He had pushed Neal's feet through the hole. He should've come up right behind him.

"PETER!"

His bellow went once more without reply. He flinched horribly with surprise when something bumped his shoulder. But when he spun around, he saw that it was only a large piece of wood, appearing like the side of one of the cabins in the hull of the U-boat. Desperate for some rest and not wanting to tread water forever, he climbed up on it. In the open air, with the constant breeze slipping over his soaked body, a chill went through him. It lingered though at the thought of Peter still somewhere below…

Neal jumped back when a hand plopped out of the water and grasped the side of the wood beside his face. Peter's head popped up with the same breathless gasp that Neal had experienced. Neal immediately took hold of Peter's hands and helped him up onto the wood. Fortunately, it was stable and large enough to hold both of them, even if they had to hang their feet in the water some. From one end, Neal watched Peter on the other lay on his back and looked up at the stars as he breathed hard and fast to get his breath back. Neal just watched patiently, taking a moment to revel in the fact that they were currently alive. It was a feat they deserved to be proud of.

"You still go it," asked Peter.

The fact that that was Peter's choice of first words after such an incident was testimony to the incident's direness. He looked at Neal as he sat up and Neal gave him an offended look.

"Of course I still have it," he said, voice quivering just slightly from the chill. He reached into deep pants pocket, which still had a little water in it, and pulled out their little treasure.

It was an amber necklace, ringed in gold with little diamonds and with a gold chain. The amber piece was rather large for how amber necklaces were usually seen. It was a deeper red than normal as well. Neal eyed it like the appraiser he was; affection and awe mixed with nostalgia and regret at not being able to claim it as his own. At one time, perhaps before the word amber had a long and dangerous meaning to it, he may have desired to see this around Kate's neck. It would have been a prize steal he would have used to show his affection for her. Now, it was a link. It was a link to what had been in that U-boat; the same U-boat that Adler had locked them up in and dropped to the bottom of the sea with explosives.

Peter was looking at it as well, with the same glint in his eyes that was saved for an opportunity to lock someone away for good. He shook his head when Neal held it out to him.

"You can hold onto it," he said.

Neal placed it back in his pocket. "Now what?"

They both looked back to the city. It was a little after midnight. The lights of the city told them that they were miles and miles out at sea. It was going to be a long swim back.

"Well, we need to get ashore," said Peter. "That's first."

"Do you think we should head straight for the city?"

Peter shook his head. "We need to play this out. We need to let Adler think he got us. That way, we can at least get back to the Bureau without attracting attention. Then, we can continue to work with what we have. He'll find out that that piece is missing. He'll still be looking for it, which means he won't go to ground forever. We can use it to get to him."

"How," asked Neal. He knew this wasn't the best venue for creating a game plan, but they had to have a long term plan before they went any further. Their lives depended on it. "Peter, this isn't going to be like we do with capturing fences or something by putting me out there with a piece of art and baiting them in. This is Vincent Adler, the man who blindsided everyone with that Ponzi scheme eight years ago, and pulled the wool over our eyes with Kate, Fowler, Mozzie, and Larsen."

"So what are you suggesting," asked Peter.

"I don't know," said Neal. "I just know that we're not going to take him down just with this evidence. We need to come at him from another angle; one he's not expecting."

"We could always just look for him now," said Peter. "We know he's in the area and that he's got all that art with him. He told us he has a lot of accounts in Europe. We can start poking around with international agencies for that. If we can get his location, we can take him down."

Neal was nodding as Peter spoke. "Right. We'll just have to be very careful. We'll have to keep it in our team in the White Collar Unit. We can't even let OPR know. Because then he'll know."

"You think he still has people in OPR," asked Peter.

Neal shrugged. "Who knows? He could have people anywhere."

Peter sighed. He looked back at the city. "C'mon. Let's start heading back."

"Which way?"

"Away from the lights."

Neal nodded. They each took a side and began paddling with their arms towards the shoreline. They headed for a set of much dimmer lights south of the city. It was a long, difficult swim, especially when the waves began to pick up some with the wind. They feared that a might be coming, but it ended up just being a quick shower. Though they weren't thrilled about being rained on, it beat a thunderstorm that could have come up. Four hours later, they ended up much further south than they had anticipated. The scrambled ashore; the beach was pebbly and came off a quiet looking seaside town with a few beach villas. They dragged their piece of wood to a dumpster outside a beach motel. Somehow, they were wordlessly agreeing to covering up their tracks at having survived the scuttling of the U-boat.

At around five (they couldn't tell because their watches were waterlogged) they sat under a pier, stomachs grumbling, shivering from their still damp clothes, and both silent in thought. Neal was fidgeting with the necklace, continuously rubbing it with his sleeve as if he could make it shinier with every rub. Peter paced as he often did when deep in thought about an important decision.

"Okay," he finally said. Neal looked up. He already knew what Peter was going to say. He had been thinking the same thing. Just neither of them wanted to acknowledge it. "This is what we're going to do…I can't believe I'm saying this…"

"We're going to do it ourselves," said Neal. "We're going to do our own investigating."

Peter just nodded.

Neal looked back at the necklace. "You know what this means, right? The world has to believe that we died out there. And by the world I mean the FBI, Elizabeth…"

Her name seemed to cause Peter pain. "I know," he said sharply. "But…Adler has already shown that he's willing to do anything for this…_stuff_—".

"It's not stuff, it's priceless art," interrupted Neal.

Peter glared. "No, Elizabeth is priceless which is exactly why I'm doing this. If he thinks we're dead, then he'll think that that necklace is somewhere out in the world. He'll continue to look for it and leave us alone. And by leaving us alone, he'll leave the people we care about alone. If he's going to shoot someone like he had Mozzie shot, then it's going to be me before Elizabeth. He will never use Elizabeth to get to me. Never."

Neal could only nod at Peter's conviction. "Okay," he said simply. "Then let's get out of here. We'll head south. We'll drive as far as we can before we need to stop."

"But we have nothing," said Peter. "We don't have any money or ID…why am I even saying this? You've got a solution for all that, no doubt."

Neal didn't even answer but got up and started walking up to the motel. "C'mon. We need to get a car before the town wakes up."

"Of course," muttered Peter.

An hour later, they were crossing the state line into New Jersey in a stolen 2001 CR-V with the heat blasting into their faces. Neal was at the wheel while Peter went through the contents of the car. They had left the more personal items in the parking lot, sure to leave no finger prints behind. Being law enforcement (at least one of them) they knew what they had to do to leave behind no evidence. So far, Peter had found two NYU sweatshirts, a First-Aid Kit, a lunchbox with Chewy bars and sliced apples that were awfully brown, and a few bottles of water. There was also some cash stashed away in the glove compartment, and at least three dollars' worth of quarters stored in old film canisters. There was also a full tank of gas, which meant a lot of nonstop driving ahead.

They devoured the apples first and saved the Chewy bars for later. Peter flicked on the radio for a bit and then fell asleep. Neal kept at a steady pace of 80 on the open, highway that ran down the Atlantic seaboard. The radio was now switched to a station with old jazz and Neal let himself get lost in that. The necklace was still heavy in his pocket.

At noon, he pulled into a gas station. Slipping the sweatshirts over their still damp shirts, they went inside to use the restroom and grab some lunch in the form of beef jerky ("because it would last long" was Peter's explanation) and some PowerAde. Neither man was pleased with such a lunch, but with their low amount of cash, they really didn't have a choice.

They continued on further south, this time Peter behind the wheel and Neal crashing in the back. The radio switched from old jazz to a basketball game. Then a news broadcasting station. And then a 60s rock station. Neal woke up at five in the afternoon to the Beatles. He climbed up front and looked around. The Atlantic was still on their left and now the sun was on their right.

"Where are we?"

"We just crossed into Virginia," said Peter. "Ready to call it a day?"

"Sure," said Neal.

They drove till dark and then started looking for a remote hotel in a remote town. They found a quiet looking seaside town. But Peter stopped before pulling in. "We don't have any cash."

Neal looked around. "Keep driving."

Peter didn't even ask. He kept on driving till it was nearly 10:30, before Neal instructed him to turn into another remote looking town. They passed a bank and Neal told Peter to pull over a minute later. He looked at Peter who just shook his head.

"I don't want to know."

Neal nodded and got out. Peter pulled over to a darker part of the street and waited. Five minutes later, Neal hopped back in. Peter drove off and got back on the highway.

Neal placed a stack of cash in the back seat. "Don't worry about how much it is. I promise that I didn't take it all. I just took most of what was in the ATM."

"That seems like a lot of money for this little town," said Peter.

"It was insured by the FDIC," shot back Neal.

Peter groaned. "I'm stealing from the very stuff I swore to protect."

"I hope you know that in order to do what we have to do, illegal things will be done," said Neal.

"I know, I know," said Peter. "It's just going to take some time to get used to."

Neal just smiled. "Now we can call it a night."

So they next remote motel they found they got a room in. It was a simple room with all the necessities: two twin beds, a bathroom, and a television. They didn't utter a word as they locked the door and fell into bed, out before their heads even hit their pillows.

()()()()()()

March 9, 2011

6:47 AM

Elizabeth felt like she had only just fallen asleep when the ringing of her cellphone woke her up. She looked at her clock and realized that she _had_ just fallen asleep about an hour ago. Well, that's what you got by worrying over your missing husband the FBI agent all night long. She picked it up, groggily saying: "This is Elizabeth."

"It's Reese." Hughes's tone was much less than comforting.

Elizabeth sat up quickly. "Did you find anything?"

"Yes, we did," said Hughes. "You need to come to the Bureau. Jones is on his way to pick you up."

Elizabeth had a million and one questions in her head, but she knew that there was no point in asking them all right now. Chances were that she wouldn't want to hear their answers over the phone anyway.

"Okay, Reese," she replied softly. "Thank you."

"I'll see you soon."

The line went dead and Elizabeth set her phone on the bedside table. She got up and quickly threw her hair into a ponytail and dabbed on some make-up. She pulled on some jeans and a comfortable shirt. She was just pulling on a light jacket after having fed Satchmo when the doorbell rang. Sure enough, the loyal Clinton Jones was outside waiting for her.

"Are you ready, Mrs. Burke," he asked.

"Please, Clinton, how many times have I told you to call me Elizabeth," she said.

Jones just smiled and led her to the car, where he even opened the door up for her. Once they were on their way, she looked at him.

"You can't tell me anything, can you," she asked.

Jones shook his head. "I'm sorry…Elizabeth."

She smiled and nodded. "That's all right. That's what I expected."

The rest of the ride was silent, but not in an awkward sense. It was just that both of them were silently thinking. Elizabeth was thinking of any other scenario that didn't involve a funeral…or a double funeral in this case. When Peter and Neal had disappeared yesterday morning, Elizabeth thought about a lot of situations that didn't involve kidnapping. They had a horrible habit of checking out things by themselves that they shouldn't and were liable to get caught up in something without ever thinking about telling someone. But when they weren't checking their phones after some time, it quickly became disconcerting.

Then an hour of no contact turned into a few hours, and the manhunt began. But there was nothing. There was only the place where Neal's anklet had gone offline via Peter's key. Diana and Jones were convinced it had to do with Adler since it was the same place Alex was last seen. Sarah and Mozzie were in on the hunch. Elizabeth had Sara and Mozzie give her information about Adler. Elizabeth knew quite a lot from talking with Peter, but now she wanted to know everything they knew.

Eventually, Hughes convinced Elizabeth to return home and try and get some rest. That didn't work very well, and she spent most of the night trying to distract herself by working on upcoming events. But her thoughts never got far without the worry of Peter and Neal coming to the forefront of her mind. But eventually, exhaustion drove her to lie down and get some sleep.

It now occurred to her that all those people at the Bureau had been working nonstop as well. She felt somewhat guilty and very grateful to them all. She only hoped that their hard work rendered a happy ending.

But when she arrived at the Bureau, most of the looks she got were of pity. She ignored them and held her head high to give off her strong persona. On the 21st floor though, she knew something was very bad. The office was quiet and subdued. She saw, from the corner of her eyes, one of the young clerk girls hiding amongst the bookshelves, sniffling. Most of the people who were seated stood up. She noticed the great appearance of fatigue around the office: ties off and hanging with the coat jackets; coffee mugs everywhere and an empty pot; Chinese take-out scattered around the desks; and circles underneath the eyes almost as dark as hers.

Elizabeth looked up to Hughes's office and was surprised to see another woman up there. The woman, sitting down, turned around when Hughes stood up when he saw Elizabeth walk in. It was Alexandra Hunter. Elizabeth swallowed as she swiftly walked through the quiet bullpen and up the stairs. Hughes met her outside the office.

His face said it all.

"Elizabeth," he began.

"I can see," she said. She faltered and looked down at her feet momentarily. "I can see that you didn't find something good."

Hughes shook his head. "That's Alexandra Hunter in there." She nodded. "She was with Peter and Neal for a time. She knows what happened to them."

Elizabeth looked Hughes right in the eyes. "Just tell me."

He swallowed. "They didn't make it."

Elizabeth surprised herself by taking a deep, shuddering breath, and holding back the tears that surged to her eyelids. She just nodded and walked into the office. Alex stood up and gave Elizabeth such a look of pity that she was forced to fight the tears again.

"Please," said Elizabeth. "I just want to know exactly what happened."

Alex looked at Hughes, who gave her a sharp nod and then shut the office door, leaving the two women alone.

"I don't want you to leave out any details," said Elizabeth. "I want to know what happened to my husband and Neal. I want to know why they had to die."

Alex nodded. "Okay, well, Adler brought them in probably about a day after I'd been kidnapped. He drugged them, and when they woke up, Adler showed us why he had brought us all there. He found a U-boat that supposedly had some sort of treasure on it from WWII. He needed Neal to break into it because it was wired with explosives. Adler had me as extra leverage for Neal. I gathered that Peter wasn't supposed to be there. My guess is that he just needed Peter for the key to Neal's anklet and dumping Peter on the side of the road wouldn't help matters any. So, he left Peter with Neal to do the job. They got into the U-boat."

She took a breath and Elizabeth could see that she was going back to what she had seen.

"It was filled with all the remnants of the Amber Room that had been plundered by the Nazis in WWII. There was nearly a billion dollars' worth of treasure in there. The artwork was stunning. Even the pieces of furniture in there were pieces of art because of all the amber. It was incredible. Adler had Neal and Peter load it all onto this eighteen wheeler. Then, he locked them in the U-boat."

Elizabeth fought back a gasp. She could hear Alex choke some on her words and emotion.

"He locked them in there and told his men to get the U-boat out to sea. There was still a lot of TNT on board and Adler ordered them to set the charge and sink the boat. He said all of this while we were on top of the U-boat. He was standing on the hatch and right underneath they were banging on it and yelling for someone to open it up. I think they thought they would suffocate. They were trying to bust it open."

Elizabeth tried to keep herself from envisioning it, but when she finally did, she couldn't keep a few tears from rolling down her cheeks. She sniffed and said, "Go on."

Alex sniffed as well and continued. "We waited on the docks till around midnight, waiting for Adler's men out at sea to give him the word that it was done. At 12:02, they radioed in and said the U-boat exploded and that debris was everywhere."

She took another breath. "Two of his men took me away into a car and tried to drug me. I think they were going to do away with me too. But I picked a knife off one of them earlier. When we were in the car I stabbed one of them and opened the door and jumped out. I came straight here. This isn't my idea of a safe place, but I knew everyone would be looking for Neal and Peter."

Elizabeth just nodded. "Well, thank you. I would much rather know…than go on and on without ever finding the truth."

Alex gave Elizabeth her best smile and stood up. Elizabeth stood up as well. "I'm sorry about Neal," she said. "Peter told me that you two had a history."

Alex smiled sheepishly. "We were friends. I'm sorry for your husband. He really was a good man. I know he was one of the only people in the world that Neal trusted, which means a lot. He was a good man."

"They were both good men," murmured Elizabeth. "Thank you, again." She frowned. "What are you going to do now?"

Alex shrugged. "What I've been doing all my life: look for that treasure. And I promise, that when I find Adler—because I will—I'll kill him for what he did."

Elizabeth shook her head sadly. "Don't get yourself killed."

Alex smirked. "Too late."

She left and Elizabeth found herself alone in Hughes's office. She walked out and went into the empty office next door. She just stood in the doorway for a long moment, looking around at it. There were all of Peter's commendations, from college, graduating college, graduating from Quantico. There was one of his unfashionable ties hanging on the back of his chair. There was the apple on the desk that Neal had given Peter as a stupid birthday present. There was Neal's hat on the table, where it didn't belong, but it was always there because he never listened. She moved around to behind his desk. And there was the picture of Peter and Elizabeth on vacation…something that seemed like eons ago.

She sank down into his chair. It smelled like him. She ran her fingers of the desk, where he sat every day and worked so hard. She could envision him there, with Neal on the other side bickering but collectively contributing to the case until they closed it. Elizabeth didn't realize she was crying so hard until Hughes came in.

"Elizabeth."

He sat on the arm of Peter's chair and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. She let her face fall into his shirt where she let the tears fall shamelessly. She didn't care if that strong woman persona fell now. She wanted her Peter.

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><p>Okay, so how was it? So, in my story the treasure is actually the remnants of the Amber Room. That's what I thought it was going to be after watching "Burke's Seven". I guess I was close. And I had the U-boat guess right on the nose so I gave myself brownie points for that. Anyway, please review. I want to know if this is a good story, if anything is confusing...let me know!<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

"Illness strikes men when they are exposed to change."

March 11, 2011

The first thing that Neal took notice of when he woke up was how disgusting he felt. He stunk of seawater and sweat and his clothes clung to him with a grainy feel from the salt and sediments from the ocean. The second thing was that his stomach was growling and that he felt rather weak from the lack of a decent meal over the past forty-eight exhausting hours. Thirdly, Peter wasn't in his bed.

Neal sat up, blinking the sleep from his eyes. The only light in the room was a ray of sun slipping around the drapes on the window, and some light coming from underneath the bathroom door. Peter's dress shirt and tie were lying on the bed. He heard the toilet flush and then Peter stepped out.

Neal started to smile and then he saw Peter's expression.

"Are you okay?"

Peter's reply was to shuffle back to his bed and sit down. That was when Neal saw Peter's ailment. His t-shirt exposed quite a gash down his right biceps. It was jagged and looked very painful. Peter had just cleaned it; the flesh around it was raw from scrubbing. Neal looked over to the dress shirt on the bed, wondering how he had missed it. There was some blood on the shirt, but not any amount Neal would have noticed in the dark. And once they had put on the sweatshirts obtained from their stolen car, Neal was sure to have never seen it. He glared at Peter.

"It's infected isn't it?" Peter nodded, already berated. "Damn it. Peter, this isn't good. That's very serious." Once again, Peter only nodded, not even meeting Neal's gaze. It was testament to how ill he was feeling. Neal was struck with pity and guilt. "Listen, you lay down. I'll go into town and get us some food and get you some medicine or something."

"Be careful," said Peter in reply.

Neal looked at him. "Listen to the pot calling the kettle black."

Peter smiled wearily. "I didn't think it was that bad at first. I thought from all that swimming that it would've been pretty cleaned out. And I didn't want to worry about it because we had to keep moving."

Neal shook his head. "We could've easily gone into some drugstore and got stuff to take care of that. It wouldn't have taken long at all. Damn it, Peter."

Peter smiled again, only to Neal's annoyance.

"What?"

"Now do you know how I feel sometimes?"

It took a moment for Neal to catch on, but when he did, he didn't look amused. "You think I would keep something like this from you?"

"Not necessarily this," replied Peter. "But when you do keep stuff from me, or go behind my back…now do you know how I feel?"

"Worried?"

"Yes, Neal, worried. Worried that you'll get yourself into trouble that I can't get you out of."

"I just thought you were always angry…or disappointed at the least."

Peter smiled ruefully. "Sure, but I'm always worried too."

Neal final let himself smile softly. He took some cash and grabbed a sweatshirt. Before he closed the door, he said, "I guess we're even, partner."

Peter smiled back and then lay down.

Neal returned an hour later with a hot box of pizza, drinks, antiseptic, bandages, and Ibuprofen. Peter was sound asleep in his bed, still on top of the comforter. The television was on ESPN and Neal quickly muted it and went over to Peter. But when he went to shake him awake, he felt how warm Peter was.

"Peter," he said softly, shaking him as gently as he could. "Peter."

Peter's eyes fluttered open and they had a glassy look to them. Neal was already pouring out two Ibuprofen pills as Peter slowly sat up. He held them out with a bottle of water.

"You'd better take these for the fever."

Peter downed it quickly and then kept drinking the water. Neal set the pizza down and then pulled out the antiseptic and bandages. Peter eyed it warily.

"We've got to clean it properly," said Neal, reading Peter's thoughts.

"Okay, okay," said Peter, as Neal went into the bathroom.

He returned with a rag and sat on the bed beside Peter and grabbed the antiseptic.

"How did you get this anyway," he asked.

"When we were climbing through that hole in the boat, I got caught on some piece of metal," said Peter. "I just pulled through it, which I guess is why it's not a smooth cut."

"That's why you came up so much longer after me," said Neal. "Well the good thing is that it wasn't that deep, which explains the lack of blood." He poured the antiseptic on the rag and the gently pressed on the wound. Peter breathed in quickly from the sting. "But that doesn't keep it from getting infected."

"You think Alex made it," Peter suddenly asked.

Neal paused in his ministrations and frowned. Truthfully, he hadn't even thought about Alex all this time. But he nodded. "Well, we escaped from an exploding submarine in the middle of the Atlantic. Alex is just as resourceful. I'm sure she found a way out of there. Or she at least made a deal to prolong her life."

"No honor among thieves," stated Peter.

"It's not just thieves that have a strong sense of self-preservation," shot back Neal. "You must be the exception, though."

"I take care of myself," retorted Peter. He tried to pull away when Neal scrubbed harder.

"Sure you do."

When Neal was finished cleaning that gash, he bandaged it up securely. But this didn't magically make anything go away. Peter still had a fever. In fact, it appeared that it was getting worse. They devoured most of the pizza and then Neal persuaded Peter to go take a shower. While he was showering, Neal took Peter's clothes downstairs to the motel's laundromat to get them washed. He also washed his own shirt to try and get some more comfort. But with no clothes to change out of, he couldn't wash his own. When he returned, Peter was back on his bed, wrapped in a towel and watching television. He looked more alert after the shower, but he still didn't look any better. He changed back into his clothes and then went to sleep. Neal took this opportunity to wash take a shower, which he found very refreshing, even after having to slip into his still dirty clothes.

The refreshing shower didn't wipe away their problems though. Peter woke up coughing and then threw up all his pizza. From then on, Peter slept fitfully while Neal hovered. The fever continued to rise that afternoon and when Neal took off the bandages, the wound looked worse. He cleaned it again; this time Peter was too out of it to register the pain from the antiseptic. But Neal woke him up long enough to have him down two more Ibuprofen with some pizza crust. He hoped that the plainer the bread, the easier it would be to keep it down. Neal was relieved when he didn't reject any of it, and actually seemed to sleep more soundly after that.

By sundown, Neal was leaning back in a chair beside Peter's bed with his feet propped up on the bed, sound asleep.

Sometime around midnight, he woke up to Peter having another coughing fit. Neal raised him up so that he could breathe more deeply and Peter woke up. But he was delirious and called for Elizabeth momentarily before passing out again. The fever had spiked and Neal knew he truly had a situation here. Trying to prolong any need to scrap the entire mission and call paramedics, he grabbed and wetted down a few rags and towels from the bathroom. He placed one on the back of Peter's neck, another on his forehead, and wrapped one around each of his wrists. He kept Peter drinking every half hour and nibbling on some pizza crust. The wounded man began to sleep better and Neal was relieved to feel that the fever was going down.

He began to think that miracles might really be true.

When he thought that Peter was out of range of danger again, he climbed into his own bed as sunlight started seeping through the drapes. And he dreamed. He dreamed of a completely different world; that world he had lived in when he was a kid: just he and his mom. Looking back, he knew that everything hadn't been right. But when he was a kid, he thought everything was perfect. As long as he was with his mom, it was all okay. He wasn't aware of all the dangers in life; or all the things that could make you sad. Those were the days he desired to go back to. That was the life he would always want. That was the life where the worries were few and the grass was greener and the sky bluer just because he didn't know any better. He dreamed about those days for no particular reason. Maybe his mind had decided that he needed some reprieve.

His mind was right. But this time he woke up to the sound of snoring. Neal smiled, turned over and fell asleep again.

They both finally stirred around noon that day. Peter was kind of weak, but once they finished the pizza and got something to drink, he was better off. Neal forced him to take some more Ibuprofen and then cleaned the wound and changed the bandages again.

"We need to get out," Peter simply stated after that. "Let's get out, get some sun, and work out our plan. Otherwise, we'll be stuck here forever."

Peter was grumpy; Neal knew better than to argue, even if he was stronger than Peter at the moment. So, they went into town.

They split up (albeit Neal had no desire to leave Peter on his own) to get some necessities. They decided that splitting up and going to a bunch of different stores would decrease suspicion on them. They didn't want to show up at the same store and pay for everything in cash. They both got some new, comfortable clothes, toiletries, duffle bags, shoes, socks, undergarments, pocket knives, flashlights, sunglasses, and haircuts. They met back up for lunch looking a lot better than they had over the past few days. They looked like two guys passing through town on a road trip; which was exactly what they wanted people to think.

"So," said Peter, as they waited for their meal. "We know he has accounts in Europe. He said so."

Neal nodded. "My guess would be Germany. When I worked for him, he mentioned he still had family there. It would be a good way to hide stuff."

"Good," said Peter. "First things first, though: we need to get to Germany. We need to get out of the country, undetected." Neal smiled and Peter couldn't help but give a slight groan. He heaved a sigh. "Listen; I know we're going to have to do some stuff that I don't exactly approve of, but let's not go all out here."

"We'll need new IDs—"

"Especially since we don't have our real IDs anyway."

"—and some passports. Now, we can get new IDs anywhere, but the passports are going to be tricky. Well, I could do them, but we'd need the right equipment…"

"We need to figure out where we're going next."

"I thought you said we were going to Germany."

"We are. But Neal, look around, there isn't any international airport around here."

"The nearest one is Charleston."

"Can you make passports in Charleston?"

"I've heard of a guy you can do IDs. Maybe he knows where we can get our hands on passports."

"This is serious."

"I know."

"No, I'm talking about the whole forging passports thing. Do you know that this is how terrorists get in the country?"

"Yes, Peter, but we aren't terrorists and we're leaving the country."

"That's not the point, Neal!"

Neal sighed and Peter glared. This wasn't going to be easy. They both knew it.

"Okay," said Neal. "How about _I_ make the passports? And then I'll destroy the equipment. We'll get the passports from someone else."

Peter nodded slowly. "If that's the best we can do."

"It is," said Neal. "Short of turning these people in." Peter looked like he was about to hop on that idea, but Neal shot him down quickly. "And if we snitch on them, they give our descriptions to the police and bam…no more going after Adler. But don't worry. I'll steal the equipment or something and then we'll destroy it. That okay?"

"Sure," said Peter, resigned. "Now we need aliases. And we need a reason to be travelling together."

"How about we're just going on a vacation," said Neal. "We can act like we're brothers."

"We don't look anything alike."

"Thank God for that."

Peter smirked and shook his head. "Fine. Brothers…half-brothers."

"Sounds good brother from another mother," joked Neal.

Peter tried to hide a smiled. "And you tease me about being nine? C'mon, focus. We need names."

"Pick something you're familiar with," coached Neal. "Something you'll respond to. Because we might have these names for a while."

Peter thought for a moment. "Paul. After my brother."

Neal nodded approvingly. He looked at Peter and said: "Paul."

"So what about you?"

Neal replied without hesitation. "Matthias."

"Matthias? That's kind of a random name. There a story about that?"

"You'll always be the agent, huh?"

"Always."

"He was a friend I had when I was a kid before we moved away," replied Neal nostalgically. "If I ever had a best friend when I was a kid, it was him. We called him Matti."

Peter smiled. "Does that mean I can call you Matti, too?"

Neal glared. "Absolutely not. That was a nickname for the kid with a weird name."

"So you're going to be the kid with a weird name too?"

"You gonna keep this up? Cause I didn't make fun of your name."

"You can't make fun of Paul."

"I could call you Pauli."

The waiter came then with their food and Peter was kept from retorting to that. Neal grinned triumphantly, but as the waiter was leaving Peter said, "Could you get my friend, _Matti_,here, some more napkins. He tends to be a little messy." The pout he got from across the table had him laughing harder than he had in days.

That afternoon, they packed up their stuff, planning another nighttime drive, hoping to reach Charleston early the following morning. Neal toyed with the amber necklace, which hadn't parted from his pockets once. Peter was silent as he watched him.

"I can't leave Elizabeth like this," he said suddenly.

"I was thinking about that," said Neal, eyes still on the necklace. "And I don't know how we're going to get this through customs without bringing too much attention to ourselves."

"We can send it to Moz," said Peter. "We could send a message or something…"

Neal looked at him when he stopped talking. He narrowed his eyes at Peter's grin. "What?"

"I've got an idea," said Peter.

()()()()()()

March 15, 2011

Elizabeth found herself paralyzed in front of the two headstones. She and Peter had their two plots in a cemetery outside Manhattan. After waiting a few days for the chance of finding the bodies, Elizabeth had finally decided to go on with the funeral services. No one came to claim family to Neal, so his friends in Manhattan took care of that. Elizabeth gave up her plot for Neal's headstone, since everyone had agreed that having Neal placed beside Peter was fitting. Even though there were no bodies, there was a short ceremony to lay down the headstones after a longer service held at a church.

The church was the mobster Borelli's church. When he had heard of their deaths, he had contacted Hughes to relay a message to Elizabeth that the service could be held at his church, free of charge. Elizabeth had readily accepted; glad to have to worry about one less thing at a time like this.

The service had been quite nice; though Elizabeth was sure Peter would've thought that it was too much for him. She was surprised at how many people showed up and who showed up. Aside from a lot of her family members and all of Peter's family, nearly all of the FBI from the city showed up as well as a good number of NYPD. Elizabeth knew some of them, recognized others, but was struck by the many people she had never met. Some, when giving her their condolences, even said that they didn't even know Peter or Neal, but had come to pay their respects nonetheless. Then, there were the number of people who were standing in the back, close to the exits, and with their eyes darting from one law enforcement officer to the next. Elizabeth assumed these were some of Neal's former contacts, who had come to pay their respects.

After the headstones were laid down, Elizabeth spotted Mozzie and Alex watching solemnly from a distance. Sara came up beside Elizabeth, and laid down some flowers before Neal's headstone. Diana knelt in front of Peter's headstone and placed her hand on it briefly and Jones came to lay a hand on her shoulder. That was when Elizabeth found herself paralyzed.

It struck her quite suddenly, that the partnership between her husband and Neal had created quite a community. There was the black of Mozzie and Alex, the gray of Sara, and the white of people such as Diana and Jones. They had somehow all came to know and respect one another and for some it was even more. Elizabeth couldn't help but think: _what now?_

Would she ever see Mozzie again? How many times more would she see Diana and Jones and Hughes? Would she ever have a chance of going over to June's again? Whatever romance that had been building up between Sara and Neal, one Elizabeth had hoped would make Neal happy again, was gone. Whatever chance there had been that Mozzie would become more comfortable in helping out the FBI was voided. The future that they had all been wondering about wasn't the same anymore. Elizabeth felt as if connections had been severed.

Elizabeth remembered all the lectures Peter would give Neal about revenge versus justice…she was having a difficult time deciding which one she wanted right now for the man who had taken her boys away.

Back at the house, after the services, there were only a few people left around: Elizabeth's mother and sister were there for her support, as well as Peter's immediate family: his brother and sister and his parents. June had parted only a few minutes earlier, and now Hughes, Diana, and Jones were saying their goodbyes.

"I want you to know, Elizabeth," said Hughes. "That if you every need _anything_, you can call any of us at the Bureau. You're still a part of our family. Never forget that. We'll always be there for you."

Elizabeth was lost for words and gave her gratitude with a strong hug. Hughes just nodded and

Modest Jones stepped forward next and just took her hand, and gave her a kiss on the cheek to which Elizabeth responded to with another hug. Diana just hugged Elizabeth tightly and whispered, "We'll get him. He can't take my boss and favorite reformed con from me without answering to me."

Elizabeth just looked at her and said, "Diana—". She paused and looked at Jones as well. "This goes for both of you. You both respected Peter, so hold onto his words. You remember what he always told Neal about justice and revenge. You two be careful and don't do anything you would regret. Don't do anything that you wouldn't do if Peter were alive. You understand me?"

They both nodded, thoroughly admonished. "We do," they said simultaneously.

"Good," said Elizabeth. She felt a rush of tears again, just looking at them, thinking of all the times they had been in the house, lounging around while working on a case into the ungodly hours of the night. "Oh." She opened her arms wide again and they both hugged her at the same time. "I'm so sorry. I just…I just can't bear to think of anything happening to anyone else. You promise me. Promise me that you'll be as safe as possible."

"Promise," they replied together.

She smiled. "Thank you."

They left and when she turned around the rest of the family was looking at her with mixed expressions. Her mother was smiling softly. Elizabeth collapsed onto the couch beside her, letting her head rest against her mother's chest.

"Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth opened her eyes and looked to Peter's mother who was seated at the dining room table, looking through photo albums with her daughter.

"Yes?"

"Was Peter's partner, Neal Caffrey, was he truly a good man?"

Elizabeth smiled, even though more tears were coming to her eyes. "Let me put it this way: I'm glad he was there with Peter in the end."

()()()()()()

March 16, 2011

Elizabeth got up from bed that morning, much later than usual. She had had a difficult time getting to sleep these past few days. The bedroom wasn't the same, and even with Satchmo beside her to mimic the presence of her late husband, her mind could never go to ease. It was eventually exhaustion that drove her to sleep. But she was taking off a lot of time from work—as much as she would need—so she slept in.

Her sister was staying with her, but there was a note on the table saying that she had gone to the grocery store. Elizabeth just wrapped herself in her robe and made herself some coffee and sat out on the patio, enjoying the nice day. Then, the doorbell rang and Satchmo barked. She went to the front door and was surprised to see a delivery man there.

"Elizabeth Burke," he asked.

"That's me," she said.

"This is for you," he said, handing her a small package. "Sign here."

She signed, said thanks, and then went inside, intrigued by the gift. The stamp was a picture of Charleston, but she knew no one from there. There was no return address either and it was very plain. She opened it up and gasped.

There was nothing else in the box except a few, hand-picked, dried up purple azaleas, held together by a piece of paper. She slowly picked them up, looking at them as if they might turn to dust. She carefully pulled the piece of paper from around them. She unraveled it and read: _I'm sorry, hon._

She had to sit down quickly before she collapsed. She felt dizzy as her eyes went from the note to the azaleas. She wracked her brain to make sense of it. Was it a dirty joke? Or did it mean what she thought it meant? But how could it? How was it possible? Alex's story had to be true…unless she was covering for them? Covering for someone?

She thought about the symbolism. Only one other person knew about the azaleas.

After calling her sister and saying that she had to go see someone and not to worry about her, Elizabeth quickly got dressed and drove off. She was in such a hurry, she found herself driving more like Peter.

When she got to the mansion, she barely knocked before walking in. The maid was flustered and agitated about her unwelcomed entrance, but Elizabeth kept walking. "June?"

June was there in an instant. "Elizabeth, darling, what is it? How are you?"

"I need to find Mozzie," Elizabeth blurted out.

"That's odd," said June. "He went upstairs. He was going to call you…" Elizabeth was already going upstairs. "Elizabeth, what's going on?"

She opened the door to Neal's apartment. It looked just as it normally did, including Mozzie on the couch, sipping wine. He sat up quickly when Elizabeth burst in.

"Mrs. Suit!"

"Mozzie! I have something I have to show you."

"I called your house, but no one answered. I figured you were doing something, and couldn't be bothered…"

"Moz, listen to me."

"I'm listening."

"You're the only one outside Peter and I that knows about our safe word 'azaleas'," she said. "Right? You never told a soul, did you?"

"I told Neal."

"Besides Neal."

"No, I would never break that trust. You know that."

"I do know that. I'm just making sure."

"So what do you have to show me?"

She took the little box out and handed it to Mozzie. He looked at it and his eyes went wide. "Neal told me about how Peter and you call each other hon, and it's the equivalent of saying 'I love you.' You think…?"

"I want to believe it, Moz," said Elizabeth sitting down beside him.

"Believe what. What's going on?"

They looked up to see June standing in the doorway.

Elizabeth made a decision that she knew would hurt, but she had to protect what she thought may be true. "I'm sorry, June, but you can't really hear this. There's a lot going on. I trust you…I really do…but—".

With a wave of her hand, June cut her off. The elderly woman smiled. "You do not have to explain yourself to me. I'll just leave you two alone to talk. Call me if you need me."

Elizabeth couldn't be more grateful. "Thank you."

June left and shut the door behind her.

"So why can't we tell June," asked Mozzie.

"Because if this means what I think it means, then secrecy is of the utmost importance," replied Elizabeth.

"But you said you trusted June," said Mozzie.

"And I do," shot back Elizabeth. "But the less people that know, the less people that are in danger."

"So what is it exactly that you seem to believe," said Mozzie. "That they're alive?"

"Yes," Elizabeth practically screeched. "No one else knows about the azaleas, my favorite color is purple, very few people know about the whole 'hon' thing. Mozzie, do you think it could be true?"

Mozzie looked at her for a moment and then got up from the couch. "Yes, I do." He walked over to the table and set his glass down. "Because I received this earlier today."

From one of the chairs, he pulled out a bread basket with an orange ascot tied onto it.

Elizabeth's jaw dropped. "It has to be them."

"It was even addressed to this house with the name Dante Haversham," said Mozzie. "And there was one other thing." He pulled from the bread basket an amber and gold necklace. "How else would amber get mixed into all of this?"


	3. Chapter 3

I apologize for the long wait. My compueter crashed, taking all my documents with it. So, I've been savoring what I could and getting organized on my new PC. I hope you continue to enjoy the story.

Also, TAKE THAT bin laden! Rot in HELL! GOD BLESS AMERICA! And God Bless everyone fighting terrorism!

* * *

><p>CHAPTER THREE<p>

"As the old saw says well: every end does not appear together with its beginning."

March 11, 2011

4:00 AM

They were back in the CR-V completing the last leg of their journey down the eastern seaboard. They were now finalizing on their plan of action.

"So these people you know," said Peter, who was back behind the wheel. "Are you sure we can trust them?"

"I don't know them," corrected Neal. "I just know of them. And no; we can't trust them, but they don't know who we are. All we're going to do is go to them for new IDs."

"You make it sound like we're just going to the bookstore," remarked Peter. "Besides, what if our names and pictures get out on the news or something? They'll recognize us and probably tell someone that we aren't dead."

"It's a risk of the job description, Peter," said Neal. "And they wouldn't tell anyone. It's bad for their business. The reason for getting a new identity is because you don't want to be found."

"I know that," interrupted Peter.

"Well, I'm just saying that if these people go tattle-taling on their customers, they'll lose clients," said Neal.

Peter sighed. "I don't like this."

"You've already told me that. A thousand times by now I'm sure."

Peter glared at him but Neal pointed ahead. "Eyes on the road."

"We're the only ones out here."

"Yeah, but I wouldn't put it past you to run us into a tree or something."

"Okay," said Peter. "So we get new IDs and you start working on the passports. Do you know where you're going to get that equipment?"

"No idea," admitted Neal. "We'll have to ask around."

"Right." Peter continued. "And when we've got the IDs, we grab plane tickets to Germany. We'll start there to see if we can find connections he could use to hide stuff or himself."

"Looks like you'll finally be seeing more of the world," said Neal. "Maybe we'll stop by Sweden so that you can embrace that inner Viking of yours."

Peter smirked. "Sure."

"Oh, and you wouldn't happen to know any German, would you?"

"Nein."

"Thought so."

"Wait; don't tell me, you're fluent?"

"Not quite. But I know enough to get around."

"That's probably an understatement. Neal Caffrey, multi-linguist extraordinaire."

"You've hit it on the nose."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Great, I've tapped into your ego even more. All right then Mr. Master of All Languages, let's see how good those teaching skills of yours are. Teach me German."

So, throughout the drive, Neal got Peter started on his German. It wasn't in their plans to actually act like they were German, but it was necessary that they both know enough to fend for themselves if they had to split up at any time. Since it looked like they would be spending a good amount of time in Germany, Neal was only going to concern himself with teaching Peter German. Peter apparently had a little bit of a background in French, and most Europeans spoke more than one language anyway. Neal could've even let slide teaching German to Peter, except that he was being as careful as possible for this excursion; Mozzie would be proud. Also, a good way to get on people's good sides was to show respect for them. And one way to show respect was by addressing them in their native language. Peter knew this too, which was why he was so keen on learning.

Peter was a quick learner and had a good ear. Neal was only bothering with conversational stuff to start off with, just to get Peter's accent down and so that he would know the basics by the time they got into the country. They still had fun with it though, as they each took turns exaggerating the accent something terrible. But they needed the laughs. It had been a long few days.

By the time they reached Charleston, it was a little after eight. Neal was asleep and Peter was silently going over his newfound German vocabulary. The area was wide awake, though, as morning traffic filled the streets. Peter woke Neal up so that the younger man could direct him to the proper neighborhood.

Peter wasn't surprised when they ended up in a section of town that didn't quite look like old Antebellum Charleston. It didn't look unsafe, but definitely a little shady. They found another motel and once they were settled in, they walked through the neighborhood to where Neal knew of the ID man.

Peter followed Neal into a convenient store at the corner of a little intersection. They scrutinized the few rows of milk while another customer checked out. Once they were alone with the cashier they went up front.

He was a plump, disgusting looking little figure sitting on a stool with glasses just barely hanging on the end of his crooked and pointy nose. He didn't look like he had shaved in a while with scraggly hair going underneath his chin and down his neck. Without moving his head, he peered up at them with somewhat of a tested look. He already looked tired of any conversation they were about to have.

"What can I do for you boys?"

"We heard you do IDs," replied Neal smoothly. His hands were comfortably in his pockets and Peter slowly mimicked his style. He was beginning to realize that he would have to leave some of his agent behind in New York.

The man still didn't move, but just kept looking up with his eyes. He gave a heavy, weary sigh.

"You might've heard that, but that doesn't mean it's true, right," he said.

Neal shrugged. "We heard it from a reliable source."

"Give me a name and I might give you a new one," replied the cashier.

Neal rolled his eyes, like he was trying to stall. Peter began to wonder if maybe Neal had been stumped…though it was unlikely.

"Freddy told us."

The man leaned back and with a lunge forward (using all his strength) he stood up from the stool and smiled. "Good, good. I always trusted that ole Frederick. That's me, by the way." He held his hand out over the counter and they shook it. Neal opened his mouth, but Freddy interrupted him. "No, no, no. I don't want to know your names. We'll discuss that when we're making your new IDs."

"Sure," said Neal.

Freddy sat back down, suddenly looking tired again, and his eyes drifted back to whatever he was working on at the counter. "I'll be out of here at six this evening. Come back then and meet me outside. I'll take you where we can discuss everything safely."

"Sounds good," said Peter. "See you at six."

Freddy stared at him for a moment and then nodded. "Not going to buy anything while you're here?"

"We're backing your other business," said Peter. He turned and started for the door while Neal gave Freddy a reassuring nod before following his partner back outside.

"Sooo," began Peter. "Now for the part I'm really not going to like: we need passports."

Neal nodded. "You know everything we're going to need for passports after dealing with Lang and Keller. Today, or tonight, we need to collect the stuff."

"You mean steal it."

"I'm trying to use vocabulary that won't make you cringe."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Am I supposed to thank you?"

"Fine," said Neal. "Here's what we'll do: we'll start scouting around for the stuff until we have to meet up with Freddy again. When it's time for that, you go with Freddy for the IDs. I'll get started on _collecting_ our passport equipment. Sound like a plan."

Peter actually smiled. "Yeah that'll work."

"Good, then let's get going," said Neal.

They drifted around the streets, stopping only to wander around places that Neal thought he could get equipment from. They scouted each place and Neal made plans of how he would get in and out. Some of it was simple enough—a distraction would be made and he would slip in and get what he needed and get out. Neal even said that some of the simplest equipment he didn't even plan on stealing.

"Really," asked Peter. "We have enough cash for that?"

"No," said Neal. "I was thinking I could just pickpocket cash from some people and then buy it."

Peter just stared at him.

"In fact," said Neal. "Maybe you should start brushing up on your pickpocket skills that Mozzie taught you. And lock-picking. You never know when they might come in handy."

Once again, Peter stared at him for a long moment, obviously trying to work out if that was actually necessary.

"Fine," he finally said. "But not today. Tomorrow."

Neal nodded, glad that Peter was naming the time. "There we go."

They spent the afternoon back in their motel room, pouring over a map of Europe they had bought at a bookstore. They were brainstorming for places that were linked to Adler in any way. They knew this would require some research though, and that would take time, but they were going to be thorough for their own efficiency and safety. Then, Neal explained the creation of fake identification to Peter, so that he'd be able to inspect the IDs once they were made. When the time came to meet up with Freddy, they split ways.

Neal went off to collect their equipment and Peter went to gather their IDs

Peter left Neal, hoping this all went over well.

Neal left Peter, happy to be traipsing Charleston all by himself and getting back to some old ways.

()()()()()()

Freddy was slightly disappointed when he left the store at and on the corner only stood one of the men he had met with earlier. And it was the man who had looked uncomfortable about the situation. Freddy knew that this meant it was someone who was going to be overly suspicious the whole time. The other man, the younger one, seemed very comfortable about it all. But Freddy never let himself underestimate anyone. The older man still seemed sure of himself, and those were the men who were dangerous. When someone was sure of what they were doing, even if they were in a situation they didn't like, then they really were capable of doing anything they decided to do.

"Where's your friend," asked Freddy.

"He's taking care of something," was the clipped reply.

Freddy turned around and waved his hand over his shoulder. "Let's go then."

Peter heaved a sigh and followed. They went into a neighborhood of shotgun houses, and after a few blocks, they finally went up to a house. But instead of going through the front door, they went into the back yard and entered through the back door. They came into a kitchen, where a young colored woman was cooking at her stove, with the radio on, relaying local news and soft tunes.

She looked up and gave Freddy a sweet smile.

"Hey, Freddy," she said.

"Hey, Lily Flower," said Freddy, his face lit up. Peter briefly wondered if Freddy was actually romantically involved with the woman, but was saved by the fact that a young colored man came in from the living room.

"Freddy, my man, haven't seen you around in a while," he said. They shook hands. "But I see things haven't changed: still pining for my wife?"

"Well, I only like the things I can't have," replied Freddy.

Peter just watched the exchange at his post near the back door. The woman smiled at him and outstretched her hand. "I'm Lily. I don't think I've seen you around before. You know my Julio?"

Peter opened his mouth to reply, but was cut off by Freddy. "Actually, this is business, Lily. I called Julio earlier…" He looked at the man of the house, who was now looking kind of annoyed.

"I know," Julio said. "And I'm pretty sure I told you not to bring him to the house."

"It's okay," said Freddy. "They're leaving the country."

"How did you know," blurted out Peter.

"Lucky guess," said Freddy. "You guys were holding onto your money and you have a different accent suggesting that you're from another region. So you left that region and you're getting out of the country via Charleston."

Peter shrugged. "You hit it on the nose."

Freddy smiled. "Thought so." He looked at Julio. "You cool with that?"

Julio glared, but muttered. "It's not like I have a choice now, anyway."

A baby wailed from the next room. "Go get Charlie," ordered Lily. "And put him in his highchair. Dinner is ready." She looked at Peter. "You're welcome to stay."

He almost rejected the offer, but realized it would be rude to do so. Not to mention, it was a free meal. He gave her a genuine smile. "Thank you. That would be nice. Can I help you with anything?" Elizabeth would be so proud of him.

She laughed gently. "No, you can just sit down."

So, Peter and Freddy sat down and Julio came in with his toddler son and set him down in the high chair. Soon, a nice dinner of roasted chicken and rice was on the table, and all of them were digging in.

"This is delicious," commented Peter. He almost said something about how Elizabeth made her chicken, but he bit his tongue at the last minute. He thought about what Neal might be up to at this time. He couldn't help but smile at the irony that he was enjoying a nice supper while Neal was working, for a change.

"And what are you smiling about, mister," asked Lily.

Peter blushed some at being caught up in his thoughts, but basically told the truth. "It's usually my partner who's eating a good meal while I'm out working. It's just nice to sit down, is all."

Peter was quiet throughout their dinner, letting the others talk. He gathered that they were rather close and had known each other for a while. Once more, Peter had to wonder how a seemingly normal family like Julio, Lily, and their toddler son would be tied into a criminal business of selling fake IDs.

After everyone was finished, Lily began picking up the dishes and Julio led Freddy and Peter from the room and into a basement. There, all the materials for creating the IDs were found.

"Alrighty then," said Julio, setting down at a desk. "There are two IDs, correct?"

"Yes," replied Peter.

"Names?"

"Paul and Matthias Hartley."

Freddy and Julio looked up at him. "Brothers?"

"Yes."

"What state do you want?"

"Pennsylvania."

"Okay, then," said Julio. He stood up. "You can stay here if you like."

"I will."

"Suspicious?"

"I just want to make sure it's being done right."

"You ever forged something?"

"Of course."

Freddy looked suspicious. "You don't seem the type."

"Don't judge a book by its cover."

Julio smiled. "Leave him alone, Freddy. As long as he doesn't mess with anything, I'll let him be."

So, Peter sat and watched, and learned firsthand about how to create a fake ID.

()()()()()()

It was midnight when Peter returned to the motel room. He wasn't surprised that it was empty. He then surprised himself in not being that worried about Neal. Neal would be fine; he was doing what he did best. Peter changed into his pajamas and went to sleep.

It was around three in the morning when Peter woke up to the sound of Neal entering the room. Peter flipped the lamp on and they looked at each other for a moment. The duffle bag that Neal had taken with him was full.

"I trust you got what you needed," said Peter.

Neal nodded. "And you?"

Peter set his hand over the two IDs on the bedside table. "Got em."

Neal sat down on his bed and inspected the IDs. "They're good. Nice job."

Peter shrugged. "Not like I did anything. I should be saying nice job to you."

Neal shrugged back. "They weren't difficult robberies to pull off."

Peter smiled. "Get some sleep."

They slept in that day and the next got to work on the passports, more German lessons, and brushing up on pick pocket skills. At the end of the week they were on a flight to Germany.


	4. Chapter 4

CHAPTER FOUR

"A man calumniated is doubly injured - first by him who utters the calumny, and then by him who believes it."

March 30, 2011

New York City

In the three weeks after Peter and Neal's deaths, Sara had buried herself in work. Everyone knew she was a workaholic, but this was extreme overload. She was barely getting sleep, talked to no one unless she had to, and her appetite had dwindled into an unhealthy state. Coworkers who thought they were friends of Sara's tried to intervene. They knew that she had worked a few times with Peter and Neal, but they didn't know much about the friendships. And they knew nothing about the romantic relationship that had begun to blossom between her and Neal.

Sara had always considered herself a hard person. No parents, her sister had run away; she was no stranger to loss. She didn't want to admit to herself that her wallowing was because of some love towards Neal. But finally, one night, she just couldn't take it anymore. For the first time since their deaths, she cried.

She curled up on her couch with a bottle of wine and started drinking, thinking about how life was terribly unfair. Her tears came for herself at first: unfair that her sister had run away; unfair that her parents had died so close together; unfair that her relationships were always doomed. And then at the thought of relationships, her tears came up at the thought of Neal and his untimely death. She cried about how it was unfair that Neal and Peter should die that way; men who hated violence and did what they could to prevent but only ended up dying in a violent way. She cried for Peter and Neal who had been in the prime of their partnership; going only up in the world. She cried for Peter and Elizabeth; the best couple she ever saw who were torn away from each other; for Mozzie who now seemed very much alone; for June whose house was quiet again. And then she even found tears for Jones and Diana, who had their team torn apart.

She cried because it was just so wrong.

And she cried until she was out of wine, and then she fell asleep.

()()()()()()

March 31, 2011

The next day, Sara called in sick. She woke up with one helluva a hangover, but had now resolved to start over. She had slept in later than she had in a while, and she could feel the good effects of it. She took a long, hot shower, and made herself a late breakfast before getting dressed in some comfortable clothes. She did her makeup, noting the circles under her eyes. She told herself that she had to move on. This wasn't the first time she had lost someone and it was probably not the last. She would give herself a few days to get everything straight in her head and her life, and then move on. And that meant that she needed to visit some people.

She debated on whether or not she should call ahead, the whole time she was on her way. But before she could make up her mind, the taxi was pulled up in front of the Federal building and she had no choice but to get out. The security guard knew her well enough and waved her through with a little look of sympathy. The deaths of Peter and Neal seemed to have dimmed down the place, but maybe that was her perception. After all, she had only come to FBI when she had dealings with the White Collar Division. Now, the division seemed to be lacking something. If she was wrong that people downstairs in the lobby were affected by the deaths, she wasn't wrong about the division being affected. As soon as she stepped out of the elevator, she could feel how wrong the floor felt. Even after three weeks it was apparent that people around here hadn't fully recovered.

She walked in through the glass doors and immediately there were several pairs of eyes on her. She knew that they were still investigating every detail of Alex's story. And everything seemed painfully true; the papers had already gone over all the wreckage of the blown up submarine out at sea. No doubt, this was taking its toll on the division. It was their people, after all.

Sara's eyes rested momentarily on Neal's desk. She was startled by how normal it appeared. It was as if nothing had been touched. It was like the desk was waiting for him to return. She tore her eyes away from it and started walking to the conference room. She could see Diana standing up and she got closer, she saw Jones sitting down beside Elizabeth. Hughes was there as well. Sara walked up the steps, ignoring Peter's dark office, and went into conference room.

"Hey Sara," said Elizabeth. Sara offered Elizabeth a small smile. She had meant to go see Elizabeth today, but hadn't expected her here.

"Hi," said Sara. "I don't mean to barge in if you guys are working on something."

"Actually, we were going to call you eventually," said Hughes. "Have a seat." He motioned to the table and Sara sat down, facing Diana and Hughes.

"What's going on," she asked.

"I was just explaining to Elizabeth that O.P.R. has launched an investigation into the Peter and Neal," said Hughes.

"You mean their deaths," asked Sara.

"No," said Diana. "They're investigating Peter and Neal."

"I'm not sure I understand," said Sara. "Do they suspect them of something?"

"They _say_ that they suspect them of working with Adler," said Jones.

"What," screeched Sara. "That's the craziest thing I've ever heard!"

Elizabeth rested a hand on Sara's. "Sara, the point is that they're trying to get under our skin. Or someone is at least."

"You mean that this is Adler's work," asked Sara. "He's manipulating someone in O.P.R. just like he did with Fowler?"

"Right," said Diana. "He's trying to destroy Peter and Neal's reputations."

"But why," asked Sara. "And what kind of proof does anyone have of Peter and Neal working with Adler. Everything they did was against him."

"What we think," said Hughes. "Is that Adler is worried about the kind of response he is going to get from all of this. Obviously, since he killed off an FBI Agent and his consultant, and then got away with billions of worth of treasure, he is going to have to lay low for a while. He wants to minimize that time, and the best way for him to do it is by distracting away from him."

Sara gave a slow nod. "So, by making this more about Peter and Neal, he figures he might be forgotten about a little bit?"

"Right," said Jones. "And if he could discredit their word…then that means he could get away with more. He knows that _we_ won't back down on a search for him. Even while we're working other cases, we'll be looking for him. But if he can put doubt into other peoples' minds, then he would be able to minimize the pressure. So, instead of O.P.R. helping us in figuring out where Adler might be, he's got them discrediting Peter and Neal."

Sara shook her head. "What a bastard." She smiled. "Excuse my language."

"That's okay, I said the same thing," said Elizabeth.

"So, what do you need me for," asked Sara. "You said that you were going to call me?"

"Yes," said Hughes. He looked at Elizabeth as well. "We don't want the first time that either of you hear about this be from the television or papers. We're sure that no matter how much we do to keep it out of the media, it'll get out. We'll do everything we can to shoot down O.P.R.'s evidence. But listen, this is something Adler is doing for show to distract. No one around here with half a brain is actually going to believe any of these accusations. The problem will be the people outside of the Bureau and Courtrooms who don't even know what the hell is going on."

"Like the media," asked Elizabeth.

"Right," said Hughes. "This might be difficult for you both. Peter and Neal are about to heavily slandered no doubt."

"Well, we know it isn't true," said Elizabeth. "And we know that you don't believe it either. That's what matters."

Diana smiled. "Remember, if you ever need anything…"

"Just call," finished Elizabeth. "I got it. Thanks."

"Same goes for you, Sara," said Hughes. "If you ever need anything, you're welcome to contact us. Of course, we hope to continue to work with you on any of your cases."

"I'll drop by every now and then," promised Sara.

"Sounds good," said Hughes. "We'll let you both know when we find something else regarding Adler. We _will_ find him."

"We know," said Elizabeth, as she stood up. "Thank you, Reese. I'm just going to get back to cleaning out their desks."

Sara frowned. So that was why she was here. "Would you like me to help?"

Elizabeth looked at her and smiled. "If you want to. I have a box for Neal's, if you want to get started on his."

They went into Peter's office, where two boxes sat on the floor behind the desk. Sara looked around the office. Neal's fedora was still on the desk, beside the picture of Peter and Elizabeth on vacation. Sara picked up the fedora.

"I should return this to June," she said.

Elizabeth nodded. "Probably. I wonder if she'll try and give those clothes away again."

"I wouldn't," murmured Sara. She swallowed at her slip of tongue, while Elizabeth picked up a box and placed it on the desk. "So," she said, trying to broach the subject as easily as possible. "How…how's everything going?" She managed to keep her face as straight as possible.

Elizabeth gave a small, tired smile. "Okay. And you?"

Sara shrugged. "I miss them. They were good friends to have around. But…well I wasn't married to Neal."

Elizabeth gave a slow nod, as if she could see right through Sara. And Sara wouldn't be surprised if she could; she had always known that Elizabeth was a perceptive woman.

"I see," said Elizabeth. "How about work?"

"It never ends," said Sara. She was assaulted by the memory of telling Neal that when he had brought her back home after her return to the living in their first case together. "What about you?"

"I went back this week," said Elizabeth. "Everyone said I should take off longer, but I couldn't find anything to do at home. And…it's easier when I have something to do. It takes my mind off the fact that he's not here."

Sara frowned a little, but not out of sadness, but more out of curiosity. The way Elizabeth said that he was gone—it was like Peter and Neal were just out of town for a while. Sara immediately felt pity towards Elizabeth. Perhaps she was more in denial than she could admit to anyone.

"Listen," said Sara, as she picked up the box for Neal's desk. "If you ever want to have lunch or something, let me know."

"Whenever I'm in your part of town, I'll call you," said Elizabeth. "Oh and your number is in Peter's phone so don't worry about that." She started putting Peter's things in the box.

Sara, slightly confused and worried for Elizabeth, juts nodded and went down to Neal's desk to get started.

()()()()()()

March 31, 2011

Munich, Germany

At that time, across the sea where the people were falling asleep, Neal and Peter were quite oblivious to work overload, floating wreckage, and O.P.R. investigations. Instead, they were waking up and getting ready for a night excursion.

After a week of tireless work of looking into every family named Adler, they had found something. It had taken persuading a bookish, older lady that they were German descendants from America and were looking into their family's past. After Neal charming her with his perfect German, and archaic Prussian manners, she had unveiled an ungodly amount of archives on all Adler families. Neal said it was much like looking for their friend who had skipped out from Ellis Island. Peter reminded him that this time there was no Sara to pass time with. Neal managed to blush only a little.

Neal had known that Adler's family had Munich roots after a thorough background check on his former boss while running the long con on him. Obviously, it hadn't been thorough enough, but there wasn't any time to dwell on that. They had found a match on a rather large and old house in Munich, one that had been in Vincent Adler's family for a few generations. Not sure what to expect, Neal and Peter had paid a visit to the house, only to find that it was abandoned; no one had lived in it since the 50s. After discreetly inquiring about it through an insurance agency, they found out that the family that had lived there moved to Switzerland those sixty years ago.

Still, Peter and Neal were intrigued enough to want to have a look inside. But they had no desire to make their faces—under the names Paul and Matthias or not—known to anyone who might be acquainted with the house. So, they were going in at night. Yes, they were going to break in.

With Neal around, that wasn't all that peculiar or unexpected. But what was funny about it was that Peter had gotten to it before Neal did.

"Well," he had said with almost a disappointed sigh. "I guess we'll just have to go in at night."

Neal had smiled, then chuckled, and then said that once they got home, _everyone_ was going to hear about how Saint Peter Burke suggested they break into a house. Peter glowered and vowed to call him Matti. That was the end of _that_ conversation.

At nine o'clock on the dot, they were leaving the little hostel they'd been calling home. When they reached the house, which was overgrown and mostly boarded up, they slipped to the back and Neal tried the door. It was still locked and since Germans built things to last, they'd have to pick it.

"Would you like the honors, sir," asked Neal.

Peter rolled his eyes. "I might as well get some practice."

Neal smiled as Peter took out the tools. "You really do enjoy this."

"It's something new."

"I think we should get serious about that bank robbing duo," said Neal. He stared into space and moved his hand along an invisible sign. "BRB."

Peter frowned and looked at him. "Be right back?"

"Bank Robbing Brothers," whispered Neal with fascination. Peter just shook his head and went back to the lock.

"I think you're enjoying this whole being brothers thing a little too much," remarked Peter.

Neal shrugged. "I've never had a brother before."

"So glad I was chosen," said Peter. The lock gave and he smiled.

"You're getting better," said Neal.

"Thanks, teach," said Peter as he opened the door. With a click of his heels and curt bow, he gestured dramatically. "After you, Herr Hartley."

"Danke," said Neal as he stepped inside. They flipped their flashlights on. Even the furniture was left behind.

"Wow," said Peter. "This is a nice place. Someone must still own it if they left so much of the furniture behind." With a gloved hand, he pulled a white sheet off a chair. A dust cloud rose up in his face.

"Maybe they were in a rush," said Neal.

"Running away from something," speculated Peter.

"Probably," said Neal. "I mean, they went to Switzerland, which is the best place to hide if you have money."

"I'm assuming that's where we're headed to next," said Peter as he shone his light up the staircase. "Hey, check it out. Pictures."

There was a row of pictures up the wall along the staircase. There were pictures of children mostly. Peter and Neal studied them closely. "This kind of looks like Adler," said Neal, about a young man around his twenties, dressed smartly in a German uniform. "Obviously, it's not, or Adler would look great for his age."

"Probably his father or an uncle," said Peter. He looked up the stairs. "So, we're looking for anything that might say something about where they went in Switzerland."

"Right," said Neal. "I'll take downstairs and you take upstairs."

"Got it."

They split ways and Neal went back into the foyer, looking at the pictures and paintings. He was surprised it was all still here; that nothing had been stolen after all these years. Someone was definitely keeping an eye on the place, which meant that they would have to move out of Munich fast. Hopefully they would find something that would point them in the direction in Switzerland. He went through the den and the kitchen and then the dining room. There was a salon—modernly known as a man cave—and finally a study. That was where he found some answers.

He raced upstairs, where he found Peter in one of the bedrooms, looking through a photo album.

"Check it out, Neal," said Peter. "I think I know where they went in Switzerland. We just have to find out where they took these pictures. It's from a vacation."

"Me too," said Neal. "Come downstairs."

They went downstairs into the study, where Neal gestured to the wall behind the desk. There was a large, detailed map of Luzern, Switzerland. All around it, there were framed pictures of the scenery of the village and its surrounding areas. Some included the family, while others were only reveling in the beauty of the mountains.

Peter pointed to one of the pictures. "There's a smaller version of this one in the photo album upstairs."

"Then that's only more proof," said Neal. "Unless you want more evidence?"

Peter frowned. "We're not trying to convict anyone…yet."

"Then let's get out of here," said Neal. "I say that tomorrow morning, we leave Munich."

"Something spook you," asked Peter, as they shut the door of the study behind them. They were leaving everything as they had found it.

"I think someone is watching over this place," said Neal. "And I don't know how well. I just think that we ought to get moving, is all. We've already been here a week."

Peter nodded. "Alright then. How's the weather in Switzerland?"

Before they left the next morning, they sent two postcards to the States.


	5. Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

"It is better by noble boldness to run the risk of being subject to half the evils we anticipate than to remain in cowardly listlessness for fear of what might happen."

March 31, 2011 Luzern, Switzlerand 12:00 PM

The train ride from Munich to Luzern was scenic and relaxing. Peter and Neal had the compartment to themselves, so they sat across from each other and put their feet up on the seats across from them. They passed from town to town through the mountains and valleys. It was perhaps the most beautiful scenery they had ever seen. They took the time to enjoy it all. They didn't discuss the situation, but instead gawked at the scenery and Neal theoretically reminisced to Peter about other beautiful places he had "visited".

But when they arrived in Luzern, it was back to business. Once again, they found a relatively cheap hostel to stay in. But their money was dwindling down and they knew that sooner or later, once it was time to get home or get to another place in Europe, they would need more cash. For now, though, they had to get back into investigative mode to find out what they could about Vincent Adler's extended family.

After discussing a plan, they decided that they would risk pitching the same story they had when in Munich: they were looking into the family they descended from. They probed through the locals and threw out the name Adler. It wasn't long that day before they had a location on a little community outside of Luzern.

They decided, that since it was already late that day, not to pursue the lead yet. Instead, they went to the hostel.

When Neal came out of the shower, he found Peter counting what remained of their money.

"We're getting pretty low," said Peter. "And I am _not_ suggesting we steal."

"Aw, come on," whined Neal with a mock pout. "I think you were getting into this."

"I am," said Peter. "But if we hang around here long enough and stuff starts going missing, we might be suspected."

Neal thought hard about it for a moment. "Ok, it makes sense. But if we don't steal it that means we have to earn it. And how are you suggesting we do that?"

"There's got to be work that someone around here can offer us," said Peter. "We'll just say that we're traveling through Europe and working our way from place to place." Neal made a face. "I know," said Peter sarcastically. "Having to work for something is so below you. Well, cowboy up."

"C'mon, Peter," said Neal. "Cowboy up? We're in Switzerland, not the Wild West."

"Too bad," said Peter. "Tomorrow, after we follow our lead, we go looking for work."

Neal glowered and then got into bed. "Fine. Good night."

"Night," said Peter. He turned off the light, laughing to himself. This should be fun.

The following day, they were up at dawn. They went to a local bakery and got a pair of croissants and some milk. Their meals of late had been smaller and they were definitely feeling the effects of it. They were never starved, but they had both lost some weight. After their breakfast on the banks of the dazzling Lake Luzern, they went on to find their lead.

The small community they were directed to didn't even have a name. It was just a clump of houses and small business that lie together outside the small city. It wasn't far and the day was pleasant so Neal and Peter opted to walk. There were a number of tourists though so they didn't appear out of place. The locals were kind and appeasing to the foreigners. It was tempting for Peter and Neal to skip a day of business and enjoy the area.

But they were driven by the desire to put Adler away and go home. So, they moved on.

They arrived at a cottage and found an elderly woman garden outside. Neal and Peter approached the fence that ran around her garden. Peter gestured for Neal to do the talking, since he was far better in German.

"Excuse me," he called. The woman turned around and looked up at the two men. "Do you live here?"

The woman stood up and took off her gloves. "Yes, I do. Can I help you?"

"Your name is Adler," asked Neal.

"Yes," she replied. "Are you looking for someone?"

"Well, you I suppose," said Neal. "May we come in?"

"Of course," she said. "Come inside. My daughter is making sandwiches."

Peter and Neal let themselves in through the gate and followed the elder into the house. The lady called into the kitchen.

"Adele," she called. "We have some visitors."

A younger woman, perhaps around Peter's age, stepped into view from the kitchen. For just a moment, she looked right at Peter and Neal. Though it was a glance, Peter and Neal felt that they were being scrutinized. She looked at her mother. "Yes, Mama, I see. Are they staying for lunch?"

"Of course," said Mrs. Adler. "And where is Papa?"

"In the back, fixing the table," replied Adele. "I'll go get him."

She left and Mrs. Adler turned to them. "I'm sorry, but I never introduced myself. I'm Hanna Adler." She held out her hand which both men shook gently.

"I'm Matthias," said Neal. "And this is my brother Paul. I'm sure you can tell, but we're from America."

"Yes," said Hanna. "I could hear it in your accent. What are you doing way out here, looking for an Adler?"

Before either of them could reply, Adele came back in with her father. "Papa," said Hanna. "These are our visitors: Matthias and Paul, they're from America. Boys, this is my husband, Conrad."

Conrad was a head taller than his wife, but just as skinny. They were both frail looking, suggesting that they had lived a long life. But his handshake was firm and his smile wide. "What can we do for you?"

"They're apparently looking for us," said Hanna.

"Come, sit down," demanded Conrad. "Adele, bring us some drinks."

"Coming Papa," said Adele.

As she left for the kitchen, Conrad and Hanna led Peter and Neal to the table. "So, you are looking for us," asked Conrad.

"Yes sir," said Neal.

Conrad held up a hand, cutting him off. "Please, call me Conrad."

"Well, Conrad," said Neal. "Our mother's name was Adler. And we've done some research and found out that there was still family over here. That's how we found you."

"You think we are the same Adlers," asked Hanna. "Well, that would be extraordinary! We have met some of our relatives in America. Conrad's brother lived there after the war. But we had no idea there were more."

"What was your brother's name," asked Peter.

"He speaks," said Hanna with a smile.

"My German isn't as good as Matti's," Peter replied with a sly grin to Neal.

Neal took it in stride. "I told _Pauli_ here that he should learn the language of our family. But he never listened."

Conrad chuckled. "Well, we speak English rather well." He continued on in English. "My brother's name was Vincent. His son, also named Vincent, came to visit us. He had pictures and everything. You see, my brother was in the German Navy during the war. We both were actually. But I was captured and spent the last year in a POW camp in England. My brother was in a submarine and he had to scuttle it off the coast of America. That is why he ended up there. His son, Vincent, has come to visit us often."

Peter and Neal shared one look and made a decision there.

"I feel silly now," said Neal. "But that story doesn't fit the story our mother told us. There aren't any Vincents in the family. We're very sorry."

Hanna smiled. "It is quite alright. But you must still stay for lunch. How long have you been in Europe?"

So, throughout lunch, Neal and Peter spun tales about where they were from and the time they had spent in Munich and their plans to travel through Switzerland for a while, before heading back to the States. Adele was silent throughout the entire time and both Peter and Neal were not oblivious to it. They felt that she suspected them of not being who they said they were. As lunch was finished, Conrad inquired if Peter and Neal knew anything about fixing tables. Peter volunteered, leaving Neal with Adele and Hanna. The elderly woman excused herself to go back outside to her garden. Neal seized this opportunity to speak with Adele.

"You were quiet," he said in German.

"I'm a quiet woman," said Adele.

Neal noticed the wedding band on her finger. "Do you live in this town?"

"I live in Luzern," Adele answered. She wouldn't look at him as they brought the dishes into the kitchen. "I'm just visiting my parents since my husband is out of town."

Neal nodded. "So, why do I get the impression that you think my brother and I are lying?"

She looked at him and her eyes bore into his. "Because you are. I know who you are."

"You do," asked Neal, masking his worry with amusement.

"Yes," she replied sharply. "You are not Matthias and Paul Hartley. You are Neal Caffrey. And your friend is Peter Burke. You are both dead."

Neal swallowed. "What makes you say that?"

"Though my parents don't keep up with worldly news, I do," said Adele. "I watch it closely and I have a pretty good idea why you are here. You're looking for Vincent Adler. And not my uncle, but my cousin."

Neal decided to risk it. "Yes, we are. Do you see a problem with trying to catch him? Or are you in on his schemes?"

Adele looked furious. "He's my cousin. Family. I'm remaining neutral."

"Oh, I forgot," quipped Neal. "You're Swiss."

Adele sighed. "What do you want?"

"We need to find him," said Neal. "He's gotten away with a lot of money and has murdered people."

"Including you," asked Adele.

"Peter and I barely escaped," said Neal. "And Peter was wounded and nearly died from it. He killed my girlfriend and tried to kill one of my best friends and he's ruined the lives of a lot of other people. Why would you want to protect him?"

"I won't tell anyone you were here if you just leave," said Adele. "Go back and your FBI friend will figure it out."

"If we go back, he'll come after us again," said Neal. "And your cousin has a nasty habit of going after the people we love to get to us. I won't risk anyone else's life anymore."

"So you both faked your deaths," said Adele, turning back to the dishes. "How noble. What makes you think I know where he is anyway?"

"Maybe you don't know where he is," said Neal. "But you might know something we don't."

"Maybe," said Adele.

Neal handed her one of the plates, and kept the silence patiently. Finally, after a few minutes of doing the dishes together, Adele turned to him.

"I know of an address in the States," she said. "But he's holding something over me. If I say something and give him away, then my family will lose everything we have."

"He's blackmailing you," asked Neal.

"Yes," said Adele.

"Listen," said Neal, as sincerely as he could. "Whatever he is holding over you, is it worth it after everything he has done? Is it worth the possibility that more people may lose their lives because of him?"

Adele stared at him before finally giving in.

"About seven years ago, when we first met Vincent, my parents were about to lose their home. They were the subject of insurance fraud and lost a lot of money. They were going to lose everything. When Vincent learned of this, he made a large donation to them. It meant a lot to my family. However, he asked me to then hold something for him in a storage unit I own in Luzern. It was an amber bookshelf. He said that it was very valuable and that someone was trying to steal it from him. It was the least I could do to hold it for him. But I was curious about it. So, I did some research and found out about the Amber Room. I questioned him about it the next time he visited. He said he was searching for all the lost pieces of the Room, but that someone, a girl named Alexandra Hunter, was trying to steal the pieces for her own gain."

"Seven years," asked Neal, interrupting. "That was around the time that he pulled off the Ponzi Scheme."

Adele nodded. "This was when I learned of it all. But when he mentioned this woman, Alexandra Hunter, I did a search on her. I was led to the Interpol website, where I also found a picture of Vincent. I was shocked, and confronted him about it. I said that I was going to turn him in and that I was going to turn over the amber bookshelf as well. He told me that if I did that, we would lose everything. It turns out that he had gained access to my parents account. It was _him_ who had taken the insurance money in the first place."

"It was a long con," said Neal in realization.

"And all so that he would have somewhere to hide his precious loot," spat Adele. "But I told myself that causing trouble for my parents was not what they needed right now. They wouldn't be able to take it all. So, I've kept my mouth shut. I also keep closer tabs into what is going on in the world, in case I notice something that he may have had dealings in. When I heard about the submarine blowing up and you and your friend's deaths, I nearly gave up the information."

"Why didn't you," asked Neal.

"Because one of his men showed up here a few days later, demanding the amber bookshelf. He was taking it back. In return, I received a large sum of money," explained Adele.

"He was trying to keep you quiet," said Neal.

"Yes," said Adele. "But I was determined. I poked around—very discreetly—and found out where these men were going."

"How did you do that," asked Neal.

"My husband is a pilot and has clearance in all airports in Switzerland and Germany," answered Adele. "I found out which airport his men had come in through and found out their plane's number. I tracked it. The plane flew to England where it refueled and then across the Atlantic. It landed in a small airfield outside Sheffield, Pennsylvania."

"Pennsylvania," asked Neal, incredulously. "Are you sure?"

"Positive," said Adele. "Because to make sure I made contact with the office at the airfield. I used my husband's clearance and rank to ask about the travel log. One of the names listed on there for having landed was a Frenchman: Aigle Victorieux. The officer there said that he owned an estate outside of Sheffield. Do you know what Aigle Victorieux means?"

In Neal's head, he translated the French to English, and the meaning came to literally mean: Eagle Victorious. But when he went to speak the words in German, he paused. "_Adler Seigreich_." His eyes widened as he looked at Adele. "Adler Victorious?"

She nodded. "I'm pretty sure it's him."

"It would certainly be closer to him than anyone has ever gotten," said Neal. He took a deep breath. "Thank you, very much. You have no idea how much this means to us."

"I think I do," said Adele. "It would be nice not to have to live with the constant fear of him doing something to my parents."

"So they know nothing about this," asked Neal.

"No," said Adele. "No one does besides me."

"That's quite a burden to bear alone," said Neal.

"I just want the best for my family," said Adele. "I don't want them to worry."

"Well," said Neal. "Don't tell Peter that. He's a lawman. He'll think that you should've said something from the beginning."

"Perhaps I should have," said Adele. "If he would've gotten caught sooner, you wouldn't have lost so much."

For a moment, the thought burned in Neal. But then he shook his head. "No. If you would have said something that first time, he would've just covered his tracks and moved on. He's really good at that; probably the best. Besides, Adler did one thing that was good that I can't deny."

"What," asked Adele.

"My partnership with Peter," said Neal. "And that's a really long story."

Adele nodded. "Are you going to go now?"

"We'll have to leave as soon as we have the money to," said Neal. "We can't risk being seen by someone who's working for Adler."

"Of course," she said. "And I promise—I will tell no one that I saw you. And I will only use your fake names."

"To protect your parents," assumed Neal.

"Yes," said Adele. "To protect my parents."

Neal looked out the backdoor where Peter was helping Conrad put the finishing touches on the table he was fixing. Neal smiled. "People do a lot to protect the people they love."


	6. Chapter 6

CHAPTER SIX

"In peace, sons bury their fathers; in war, fathers bury their sons."

April 3, 2011

Train from Luzern to Munich

Much to Neal's delight, he and Peter wouldn't be working their way back home. Before they left Luzern to head back to Munich, Adele handed them a check with more than enough cash to get stateside. She wished them good luck and said that if they were ever in the area again, to stop by.

After Neal told Peter Adele's story, Peter was wary to trust her. Who was to say that Adele wasn't going to turn around right then and warn Adler? Neal had to admit that Peter had a point, but they had nothing to compare her story to. They had already made an appearance and there was no turning back now. Peter reluctantly agreed, understanding that Neal had taken a leap of faith. Still, he was eager to get home as soon as possible to check the Pennsylvania lead out.

"I find it very ironic," said Peter, on the train ride back to Munich. "That after everything, he was right under our noses the entire time."

"You think it's too ironic," asked Neal.

Peter nodded, eyes narrowed as he thought hard, trying to find a discrepancy in the story.

"We don't know how long he's been there," Neal placated. "He might've moved there after he blew us up."

"But that's pretty bold of him to hide out right there," said Peter. "I mean, if Adele heard about our deaths over here, then no telling what kind of publicity everything got over there."

"I guess I don't know what to make of it, yet," said Neal. "But frankly, I don't really care _why_ he's doing what he does anymore. I just want to stop him."

Peter nodded knowingly. "Should we send word to Moz and El about us returning?"

Neal smiled mischievously. "No way! I think we should completely surprise them."

Peter rolled his eyes. "Fine."

They rode the rest of the way in companionable silence.

()()()()()()

April 3, 2011

New York City

When Elizabeth had received her postcard, telling her that Peter and Neal were in Munich, she was almost jealous. Munich? The postcard was a beautiful picture of the old city at sunset. However, she didn't relish their situation. If they were seen by the wrong person, it could all end very quickly. She shuddered at the thought.

As per a mutual agreement, Elizabeth and Mozzie burned their postcards after receiving them. They had burned the packages that had borne their first gifts to them. But Mozzie wore his orange ascot and actually kept bread in the bread basket and never said a word about where he was keeping the amber necklace. And Elizabeth had the petals of the purple azaleas tucked away her favorite book. That was something she would never throw away. But the postcard, despite the pretty picture, was burned and the ashes washed away.

After the postcard, Mozzie called Elizabeth on the untraceable phone he had given her to contact him if she needed anything. He called to inform her that Adler's family was from Munich, which was why Neal and Peter were investigating there. Elizabeth had a momentary lapse of strength as she spoke of how much she really wanted Peter home.

"It'll be all right, Mrs. Suit," said Mozzie. "They're the best. You'll see. They'll make it home all right."

"Oh, and you should've seen Sara the other day, Moz," said Elizabeth. "I wanted to tell her so bad that they were okay. I want to tell everyone! Everyone at the Bureau is working so hard at trying to find Adler. They hate him for this! I don't blame them; I hate him for just _trying_ to kill Peter and Neal. And I wish I could tell Peter's family. I can't imagine what his mother is going through." She sighed. "And poor Sara. I could tell she wasn't doing very well."

"Ms. Ellis is a very strong woman," said Mozzie. "So strong that I'm sure she'll give Neal a hard time when he gets back about not telling her about their little trick."

"Oh, they're _both _getting a hard time from _me_," said Elizabeth. "But, I have to respect their wishes. If they didn't tell her, then that's it."

Mozzie nodded in agreement. "Also, how are you taking this O.P.R. investigation?"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "I actually haven't been paying that much attention to it. I knew what was coming so I didn't worry about it. Like I told Hughes, I know my husband and Neal. And we all know that O.P.R.'s accusations aren't anywhere near the truth."

"Anybody given you grief," asked Mozzie.

"What are you going to do, Moz," asked Elizabeth. "Wave chopsticks at them?"

Mozzie rolled his eyes. "I'm just checking on you, Mrs. Suit," he said.

"Well, if you must know," began Elizabeth. "A few O.P.R. agents came around the house and my store and sniffed about. But there wasn't anything for them to find. And I've had some reporters and such call on me. But then Diana and Jones showed up and told them to back off. They haven't been around since."

Mozzie smiled. "Good. I knew we could count on that over-threatening pair."

Elizabeth laughed. "Okay, then, Mozzie. Thank you for calling."

"Anytime, Mrs. Suit. Anytime."

()()()()()()

April 4, 2011

Munich, Germany

9:00 AM

Peter absentmindedly flipped through a German newspaper as he lounged on the bed in another hostel room. Neal was showering—since he was apparently too tired to shower when they had gotten in late last night. Neal hadn't taught Peter how to read in German, but he could get the gist of the articles. Most of the words were cognates anyway, and what he didn't know, he sounded out. And if there was no hope to it, he could always look at the pictures. But most of it was about the typical on goings of the world anyway—war, crime, and entangling politics. He looked over pictures that had been taken in the aftermath of a terrorist bombing in Egypt and shook his head. Would it ever end?

Neal came out, making jeans and a t-shirt look dapper, and grinned. "Anything interesting in there?"

"Not that I can see," said Peter. "Just the usual."

"Hmm," said Neal. "I never understood why people read those things every morning. They're kind of depressing."

"You have to find some way to hear about what's going on out there," said Peter. "And I prefer this over the news where some woman who won't stop smiling no matter how bad the news is telling me."

"They do not constantly smile," said Neal.

"I've seen some who do," said Peter. "You'd think they were models or something; not professional journalists."

Neal shook his head. "Ever the narcissist. Ready to go?"

"I've been ready sleepyhead," shot back Peter, practically jumping out of bed.

"You're the one who let me sleep in, big brother," said Neal. "Haha—you really _are_ Big Brother."

Peter yanked open the door. "Out."

They were on their way to cash in the check Adele had given them so that they could buy their plane tickets. There was a bank not too far from where they were staying. Their plan was to get tickets for the first flight possible.

"We're getting breakfast afterwards, right," said Neal.

"Yes," said Peter. "As soon as we get these Euros."

"Good, cause I'm starving," said Neal.

"And let's make it a good breakfast," said Peter. "We have the money."

"You won't hear me arguing," said Neal.

He opened the door to the bank and they went inside.

()()()()()()

April 4, 2011

Luzern, Switzerland

9:30 AM

Adele grumbled when her phone rang. She had just hung up with someone else. Even out here, with her parents in the country, she was unable to escape work?

"Hello?"

"I'm looking for Adele Adler Jaegar?"

"This is she."

"Hi, this is Herr Karl Hendel with Bayern LB, Munich. I am calling on the behalf of two American men who are here with a large check that was supposedly made out by you. I'm calling to verify this. They are cashing it in for Euros."

"Yes, that is right," said Adele. "I would be happy to verify my account information if you wish."

"You can start by giving me the names of the two men you gave it to," said Herr Hendel.

"They are brothers," replied Adele. "Paul and Matthias Hartley."

"Yes, that is who they claim to be," replied Hendel. "You understand that I am just be cautious with your money?"

"Yes, Herr Hendel," replied Adele. "And I thank you for it."

"Well, that is all then," said Herr Hendel. "Thank you for your time Frau Adler."

He hung up and Adele sighed, and got back to her day. She turned on the radio to listen to her favorite tunes as she started making breakfast for herself and her parents. Not but fifteen minutes later, the music was interrupted by a stern voice.

"We are interrupting this program to announce that there has been a terrorist attack in Munich," said the voice. "It has only just happened about ten minutes ago. More information can be gotten from our corresponding TV network—".

But Adele had already switched on the television as she clicked off the radio. She went to news channel, where there was already footage of the scene in Munich. She could hardly believe it: smoke was billowing from the remnants of the Bayern LB.

()()()()()()

April 4, 2011

New York City

6:00 AM

Elizabeth had a routine in the morning: get up, put the coffee on, let Satch out, switch on the news and start breakfast. She never started breakfast this morning. Instead it was: get up, put the coffee on, let Satch out, switch on the news, sit down in shock and call Mozzie.

"Mrs. Suit," he answered cordially. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"There was an attack in Munich," Elizabeth replied, eyes still glued to the television. "Do you have a TV nearby?"

"Um, yes," said Mozzie. There was a pause. "Okay, Elizabeth, you shouldn't worry that much. It was just a bank. There are tons of banks in Munich, who's to say they were in that one at that very moment? The odds of it are so slim."

"Oh, I know," said Elizabeth. "I'm sorry to bother you. All I saw on the news was that it was in Munich and the thought that Peter and Neal were there scared me."

"And I'm sure they'll realize that," said Mozzie. "They'll send word that they're okay. They wouldn't leave us hanging."

"I'm sure you're right," said Elizabeth. "As usual."

"No, Mrs. Suit," said Mozzie. "You are right more often than I am." He paused. "You know, I have a contact in Munich. He's an old one, but if you wanted to, I could have him seek out Peter and Neal. It's a risk to their cover, but—".

"No," interrupted Elizabeth. "You're right. The odds of them being there are too slim. It's not something that warrants us blowing their cover off. Thank you for listening, Moz. Sorry to bother you."

"You're never a bother, Mrs. Suit," replied Moz, before he hung up.

()()()()()()

April 5, 2011

Munich, Germany

2:00 PM

The first thing he was aware of was that he could hear people talking around him. Their voices seemed far away, but he knew they were there. He held onto that knowledge as he tried to see. When he finally did get his eyes open, he slammed them back shut to ward away the bright light. Someone touched his arm and shook him gently. Once more, he could hear a voice, but he couldn't understand them. It was like they were mumbling. But he finally did open his eyes, just a little. He squinted until it was more comfortable and then he looked around him.

A nurse stood over Peter in the hospital bed, gently shaking his arm. When she saw that he was awake, she smiled and began to talk to him. Her voice was still too dim for him to understand. He shook his head.

"I can't—," he cut himself off as he remembered where he was. He switched to German. "I can't hear you."

The nurse made an expression of realization and nodded. She wrote on a piece of paper and handed it to him. He might as well have been trying to read Greek. His head hurt too much to try and make sense of the words. He shook his head and looked at the nurse.

"English?"

She smiled and took the paper from him. She wrote more and handed it back to him. "How are you feeling?"

Peter thought about that for a moment, as he surveyed the damage. His chest was throbbing as was his calf, though he could see bandages on both. There was a pounding on his head, and that's when he realized that his head was also bandaged. He looked back at the nurse.

"I think the bandages on my head are too tight."

The nurse nodded and smiled and set to re-wrapping his wound. While she did, he looked around. He wasn't in a room by himself. It looked like an ER, but it was difficult to see from where he was. The curtains had been drawn on either side of his bed so that all he could see was the hallway. Doctors and nurses and paramedics were rushing about out there, pulling and pushing patients to and fro. He was suddenly struck with panic.

He grabbed the nurse's wrist and she looked at him in alarm. "My brother," he said. He was shouting to her, though he thought he sounded fairly normal. "Did you find my brother?"

She quickly picked up the paper and wrote: "I do not know who your brother is, but if you give me his name I will look for him here at the hospital. He could be at another hospital though."

Peter nodded, still very worried. How did they have the worst luck? They were so close to going home and they get blown up? He could remember the fear in his chest when the suicide bomber walked into the bank, shouting prayers in Arabic to the ceiling.

When the nurse was finished wrapping his head, she explained his injuries. He had three broken ribs, a piece of shrapnel had caught him in the lower leg, and he had sixteen stitches along his hairline. Not to mention he couldn't hear. But the nurse said that that was normal and after while he would get his hearing back.

"My brother's name is Matthias Hartley," said Peter.

"I'll go look for him," promised the nurse. "And as soon as I find him, I'll let you know." She turned to leave and then spun back and scribbled on the paper. "My name is Heidi, if you need anything."

The nurse left Peter's small, curtained off area and headed for the counter where the wounded's names were being kept. There was a man there, arguing with the head nurse. The man was leaning heavily on one crutch, his formerly nice suit ruined by blood, dust, and specks of debris that clung to it. A young boy clutched his good leg.

"I have to find these men," the man was saying.

"Sir," the head nurse replied curtly. "You cannot. You are not family. All I can tell you is whether or not they are even in this hospital and if they are alive."

The man glared at her and Heidi reached for the log with the names of the wounded. The man pointed to the log. "Is that it?"

"Yes," said the head nurse. "As soon as Heidi here is done with it, I will look up the names for you."

"What are the names, sir," asked Heidi. "I'll be happy to look them up for you."

"Paul and Matthias Hartley," said the man. "They saved my son's life as well as my own."

Heidi's head shot up. "I've been tending to Paul."

"Can I see him," asked the man.

"Sir," barked the head nurse. "I just explained this to you. Unless you are immediate family, you cannot visit anyone. This hospital is crowded enough as it is. Now, later on, when everything has calmed down, you may come back. But for now, I suggest you get some rest."

The man looked at Heidi. "Fine, then. But could you tell them something for me?"

"Yes, sir," replied Heidi.

"Just let them know that the man from the bank is very much in their debt. Thank them very much for saving my son's life."

Heidi smiled. "I will."

The man nodded and left, taking his son with him. Heidi continued to look through the log. She smiled when she came across their names. "Paul Hartley. Matthias Hartley." She looked back up at the head nurse. "I need to let Paul know that his brother is alive."

()()()()()()

April 12, 2011

Luzern, Switzerland

6:00 PM

Adele, back in her own home, was on the couch with a glass of wine, watching the evening news. Her husband, Derek, came in and sat down beside her with his dinner.

"Anything interesting on the news today," he asked.

"There's still a lot about the bombing in Munich," replied Adele.

"Hmm," said Derek. "That was a shame. Scary to think that a terrorist would show up at your little bank."

"Guess it's the same as bank robbers showing up," said Adele.

"True."

"And now," said the news reporter. "We have another story of the heroism that took places in the Bayern LB bombing. I have here, with me, an employee of the bank, Karl Hendel. Karl, tell us what happened while you were there."

Adele swallowed.

"I was talking with two American gentlemen about a check they were having cashed," told Karl. "We were set back away from the lobby, beside the vault. My son was with us as well. That was when the terrorist came in. He screamed at everyone and showed that he had a bomb. He couldn't see us, though."

"Were you scared," asked the reporter.

"Very," replied Karl. "I was horrified that my son and I should die this way. But one of the Americans, he said that we should get into the vault because it might protect us from the blast. But I did not have the keys to it. The large, steel door was already open, but the barred door was not. Well, the American, he broke into it!"

"They broke into the bank vault," asked the reporter, almost disbelieving.

"Yes," said Karl. "He broke in! I picked up my son and ran inside. The other American started to pull the door shut and that is when the bomb went off."

"Do you know who these Americans were," asked the reporter.

"Yes," replied Karl. "They were brothers: Paul and Matthias Hartley. They were actually in the same hospital as me. But when I went back to see them, the staff said that they had disappeared."

The reporter chuckled. "Do you think these men might've been bank robbers?"

Karl shrugged. "All I know is that they saved my life. For that, I am very grateful."

Derek looked at his wife. "That was quite a story. Do you think they really were bank robbers?"

Adele shook her head. "No idea. But that's very ironic."

The reporter caught their attention again. "Well, it seems that we do have faces to put to these two mystery heroes. The hospital has footage of the two men leaving the hospital of their own accord."

And on the screen appeared the faces of one Peter Burke and one Neal Caffrey; aka: Paul and Matthias Hartley.


	7. Chapter 7

CHAPTER SEVEN

"All men's gains are the fruit of venturing."

April 13, 2011

New York City

11:00 AM

Diana was nearing the edge of her patience with the media. O.P.R. had formally made more accusations against Peter and Neal and she was fending off reporters left and right who wanted to speak with the F.B.I.. The Bureau was directing its calls to the White Collar Division. Most of the agents were thwarting the reporters off by using the same line: "I'm sorry, but I am un-allowed to talk about the case." Hughes had been periodically releasing statements into the media that clearly said that they were going to disprove all of O.P.R.'s accusations. Diana had never been prouder to serve under the Director.

On top of the ongoing investigation into Adler, there were other white collar crimes that needed solving. Everyone in the office was feeling the pressure; it was only a matter of time before someone lashed out at another team member. But everyone was doing their best to keep their cool. They all understood that they were in this boat together.

A clerk cautiously neared Diana's desk after witnessing the Special Agent slam down her desk phone.

"Agent Barrigan," said the clerk. "A package arrived for you."

Diana sighed heavily, not even looking up the clerk as she shuffled through papers. "Who's it from?"

"Dante Haversham."

Her head snapped up, and she snatched the little box from the clerk. "Thanks." The clerk just nodded at her odd behavior and carried on.

Before, with Peter and Neal behind, Diana had really disliked being around the little guy. He was high maintenance and too talkative for Diana's temper. But this random package from him; it had to mean something. She and Jones were positive that Mozzie had been looking into Adler. Perhaps he had found a clue.

But when she got the package opened, only to reveal a necklace, she was confused. It was exquisite and carefully packaged, with detailed caution that only Mozzie could provide. She slipped on gloves and picked it up. Immediately, the amber drew her attention. This was definitely case related. She looked inside the box, but there was no note. The only conclusion she could positively make was that this was a piece of the Amber Room, something Adler hadn't been able to retrieve. She wondered if he even knew he was missing it.

She placed it in the box and looked around for Jones. He was at his desk with his back to her. She got up with the necklace and went over to him. She was surprised to see that he was opening up something of his own.

"Did you get something from the little guy, too," asked Diana.

He spun around, clearly startled by her sudden presence. "Yeah," he breathed. He spotted the necklace. "He sent you that?"

"Yeah," said Diana. "It's an amber necklace."

"Maybe he likes you after all," joked Jones. Diana slapped him on the arm. He retreated back into his chair. "Okay, okay. I'll bet you whatever he sent me has to do with that." He tore open his envelope and revealed a piece of paper. There was an address scribbled on it.

"1024 Jansen Lane. Sheffield, Pennsylvania," said Diana. "What the hell is out there?"

"I'll pull up the address," said Jones.

Diana went back to her desk and placed the box with the necklace down. She spun around when she heard something smash in the conference room. The young clerk who had brought her the package had dropped a heavy box of files on the ground. But she was staring at the television.

Diana went upstairs. "Kayla, are you—"

But Diana froze when she saw the television. It was footage of two men leaving a hospital: one on crutches and the other with a bandaged arm. There was no denying who it was: Peter and Neal. She collapsed in a chair and just watched the report about two men who had saved a bank employee's life by breaking into the vault. Beside her, Kayla was paralyzed in disbelief.

"Diana!" Jones jumped up. "Diana, it's Adler! Adler lives at that address!" He was running up the stairs, already dialing numbers on his phone. "The house is registered to a Aigle Victorieux, and in French that means—what's wrong?"

"Nothing," Kayla finally managed. She practically shouted it. "Agent Burke and Neal are alive!"

Jones turned to the television, but the pictures had been removed. "What?"

Diana jumped up and grabbed Jones' arm. "Clinton, they're alive! They sent us the address and necklace!"

Jones was shaking his head. "You've lost it."

"No! Look!" Kayla was looking back at the television. By now, most of the office's attention was drawn to the conference room. Hughes barged in.

"What in God's name is going on in here?"

The video was replayed and Hughes and Jones gaped in shock.

"Sir," said Diana. She took the paper from Jones. "We need to get every available agent and SWAT member to this address ASAP. We know where Adler is."

"They did this," asked Hughes, gesturing to the television.

"They must have," Diana said, barely catching her breath. "They must've faked their deaths to trick Adler into believing he was safe. And then they went looking for him. Sir! If we've seen this and we know they're alive, then Adler will too! We have to get there now!"

Hughes shook the shock off of him and grabbed the address. "Pennsylvania? Okay, I'll call the Bureau office closest to that location. Let's get this bastard!"

()()()()()()

April 13, 2011

Outside Sheffield, Pennsylvania

11:30 AM

Vincent Adler sat on the veranda of his gorgeous house on his broad estate in rural Pennsylvania. He was looking out over rolling hills and a barn in the distant. In the foreground, horses grazed in the nourishing green fields. He sighed in content. This was truly a great life. He had an amazing house with priceless treasures making up the rooms like an old museum. He was tucked away in a quiet world where he could enjoy his years.

As he rolled the ice in his glass, one of his men ran out of the house. Adler sighed with annoyance. What were they bitching about now?

"Sir," said the young man. "You have to come see this."

"What is it," asked Adler in an impatient tone.

"It's Burke and Caffrey," the younger man said.

"What about them," asked Adler. "Did our contacts at O.P.R. actually make a case? That's more than I would've hoped for but I'll take it."

"No, sir," replied the assistant. "It's them—they're alive!"

Adler turned to fully look at his aide. "Excuse me?"

"It's true," breathed the man. "They must've survived the explosion somehow, but they're alive. They were in Munich when—".

"Munich," echoed Adler, appearing alarmed for the first time.

"Yes, sir, Munich."

"I want them found immediately," snapped Adler, standing up. "And when they're found, I want a bullet put right between their eyes. I want someone to watch them draw their last breaths. And then I want their bodies burned to ashes."

"Yes, sir," said the aide. "I'll contact your men in Europe." The aide quickly went back inside.

Adler threw his glass on the ground, his calm life suddenly thrown out of sorts. How could they possibly be alive? And how much did they already know? Adler knew one thing, though. It was time to move. He couldn't risk them finding a connection to this home. He knew that as soon as they found out, they would contact the FBI. He hollered for his aide to start packing their stuff. They'd have to get moving quickly.

He looked towards the house. There had been no reply from his aide. But when he went inside, he was met by the barrel of a rifle. He looked down it, into the eyes of a SWAT member. Adler's eyes shot around; the room was full of them. His aide was pinned to the ground. The front door opened and Adler knew he wouldn't be getting away this time.

Director Reese Hughes, and Agents Diana Barrigan and Clinton Jones walked in, just barely keeping the smug grins off their faces.

Diana grabbed Adler's arms and none too gently, yanked them back and cuffed his wrists tightly.

"Vincent Adler, you're under arrest for the attempted murders of Special Agent Peter Burke and his consultant Neal Caffrey."

For once, Adler had nothing to say. He was at a loss. He had been trumped.

()()()()()()

April 13, 2011

Burke Premiere Events

11:45 AM

As Yvonne put up new designs of decorations that had just been shipped to the store, she watched as her boss, the one and only Elizabeth Burke, happily talked to a young, engaged couple. She could really go on and on with ideas for anything related to their wedding and reception. Yvonne marveled at how well Elizabeth could read people and to know what they would like. But lately, Yvonne had been keeping an extra eye on her friend. She knew Elizabeth had to be feeling the effects of not only losing her husband, but having the media slander his name and reputation as they reported about his supposed rogue actions. Yvonne suspected that work was the only thing Elizabeth was living for these days. She worked almost 24/7; Yvonne thought about all the times she had heard Elizabeth talk about Peter and his nearly 24/7 work habits.

Yvonne mentally groaned when she heard the back door open. She was hoping that the next shipment wouldn't arrive until after lunch. She was quite hungry. But when she turned around, with the best smile she could muster up plastered on her face; Yvonne ended up giving a little screech and dropping a box on the floor.

Peter Burke stood in front of her. Despite the fact that he had a baseball cap on and some shades, she knew it was him. He pulled the shades off and she inhaled quickly in further shock.

"Yvonne," he said questioningly. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"Peter, she probably thinks you're a ghost," said someone else. Neal Caffrey stepped out from behind Peter, also pulling off a pair of shades.

Yvonne felt her body sway and instantly Neal was there to steady her. He helped her sit down on one of the crates.

"Is Elizabeth here," asked Peter.

Yvonne just stared up at them. "You…you guys are dead. You died."

"Long story short," began Neal. "We faked it. Now, is Elizabeth here? Peter had been dying to see her—no pun intended."

Yvonne just nodded. "She's up front with some customers."

But they could already here Elizabeth coming towards them. "Yvonne, sweetie, are you alright?"

Peter and Neal's head shot up. Neal stood beside Yvonne as Peter took a step towards her voice. When Elizabeth came into view, it was like time had stopped.

"Hey hon," Peter managed out kind of hoarsely.

Elizabeth threw her hands over her mouth as she gasped. "Oh my gosh—when do you get back?"

"Get back," squeaked Yvonne. "Elizabeth—did you know they were alive?"

She received no answer because Peter and Elizabeth quickly went to each other. Despite any injuries Peter had hidden under his clothes, he held Elizabeth tightly to him as they passionately kissed. Elizabeth no longer hid her tears as she wrapped her arms around his chest.

"I'm so glad you're back," she whispered. "I mean, you are staying, right?"

"Yeah," said Peter, brushing away the tears from her face. "It's over. They've got Adler."

"You found him," asked Elizabeth.

"Yeah," replied Peter. "We found him and then we relayed the info to the Bureau. They just got him. We've been listening in on the radios with Mozzie's help."

"Mozzie knew you were back," asked Elizabeth. "How long?"

"We got back in last night," said Peter. "I wanted to come home, but we couldn't risk it. We had to make sure that Adler was taken care of. I mean, our cover was blown when our faces got on the news."

"I never even saw that," said Elizabeth.

"It just got stateside about an hour ago," said Peter. "But we're pretty sure that Jones and Diana figured it out. They'll probably be down here as soon as they've processed Adler."

Elizabeth just shook her head and went in for another kiss. "I'm just glad you're okay."

Neal cleared his throat. "You guys should get a room."

Peter rolled his eyes and Elizabeth broke free from her husband and went to Neal, hugging him fiercely. She noticed his bandaged forearm.

"What happened to you," she asked.

"Don't worry about it," said Neal.

"Neal…" said Elizabeth in a warning tone.

"Well, against all odds, did you hear about a bank blowing up in Munich," asked Neal, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible. Elizabeth just gaped at him. Neal looked up at Peter. "I guess she did."

"Hon," said Peter, coming over and laying his hands on her shoulders gently. "It's okay. We're just fine. It's just a few scrapes and burns."

"You're limping," Elizabeth finally said. "You were in the bank, too?" She closed her eyes and shuddered. "Never mind, you're here now." She hugged Peter again.

"So," said Yvonne slowly. "If you're alive, what now?"

Peter and Neal looked at each other and smiled. "We come back to the living."

A few minutes later, after Elizabeth kindly wrapped up her meeting with her customers and closed up the shop for lunch, Peter and Neal met her out back where Mozzie was waiting for them. Yvonne was given the chance to go with them, but she declined, saying that she really needed a peaceful lunch now. After being sworn to secrecy that she ever saw them, she hurried off. Elizabeth latched onto Peter's arm as she handed Mozzie back the phone he had given her to contact him.

"We won't be needing this anymore," she said happily.

Mozzie tossed it in the nearest trashcan and gestured to a maintenance truck he had apparently commandeered. "I'll be your chauffeur today. Where are we headed?"

"I think you know where we're headed," said Peter.

Mozzie looked at Neal incredulously. "Does he really think I'm going near that building again?"

"Now that you've proven you will," said Peter. "It's too late to reject that you will."

Mozzie's eyes narrowed, but a small smile crept over his lips. "Fine, get in. Let's get this whole coming back to life business over with."

"About time," said Neal.

()()()()()()

F.B.I.

New York City Branch

12:12 PM

Diana practically pushed Adler down into the seat of the interrogation room, leaving his hands cuffed uncomfortably behind him. She then quickly left the room, slamming the door behind her. Jones just smiled at her with admiration of her forcefulness. He turned to two other agents. "Guard this room and don't let anyone in or out. Only, myself, Agent Barrigan, and Director Hughes are allowed in. Anyone else who wants to enter has to be one of the three of us. And I don't care how highly ranked they are. If they're not with one of us, they don't come in here. Understood?" The younger agents nodded sternly. Diana looked at them, and they nodded again. Then, she and Jones left.

A helicopter had got them to Pennsylvania and back in record time. And as much as they were ready to grill Adler for every crime he had ever been accused of, they were more anxious to find out where Peter and Neal were. Hughes had gone to call Elizabeth. He now strolled up the hallway to them, shaking his head.

"You're not going to believe this," he said. "They're outside the Bureau building right now, waiting for us."

Jones could only laugh, he was so shell-shocked. "This is unreal. I can't wait to hear how they pulled this off."

"I won't believe it till I see them with my own eyes," said Diana. "Are they coming up?"

"They don't want to without us," said Hughes. He almost smiled. "I only talked with Elizabeth. But she said they're just outside in front of the building."

"No one noticed them," asked Jones.

Hughes just shrugged. "I don't even know where to begin with this. Let's just go down and meet them. Then, we'll figure out our next step. They probably already have a plan anyway."

They impatiently rode down in the elevator. The whole building was abuzz with the capture of Adler and the news reports with Peter and Neal's face all over them. Most people didn't know what to make of it. Some were on the right track that Peter and Neal had something to do with Adler's capture. Others thought that it might be some kind of O.P.R. trick. But in the end, everyone was just as shocked that Peter and Neal were apparently alive. But by now, that shock was being felt in the media as they put two and two together. The heroes in Munich were the same as the dead F.B.I. Agent and his consultant. People were looking for answers, but no one seemed to notice the two men in baseball caps outside the Bureau building.

Diana spotted them first. They had their backs to the office with baseball caps on, but there was no denying the two silhouettes. Peter's broad shoulders against Neal's lither, yet still well-built, frame. And there was no denying that the women hanging onto Peter was Elizabeth and the little guy standing beside Neal was Mozzie. They were seated on the steps that ran up against the sidewalk. To a random bystander, they might've looked like just normal folks sitting down to enjoy the city sghts and sounds. But to those who knew them, there was nothing normal about them.

Even though Hughes wanted to, he refrained from running over like Diana and Jones did. The two younger agents stopped just short of running into the four. Peter and Neal spun around and hugged their teammates. There was much laughter and hardly any talking as they all took in the moment. Hughes walked up, having surveyed his two missing team members. He saw the odd gait in Peter's walk and the bandage almost hidden beneath Neal's jacket sleeve. Maybe they weren't as okay as they had let people think.

"Peter," he said, extending his hand to the man.

Peter shook it with two hands and a warm smile. "Hey Reese. Sorry for the impromptu excursion. There was some business we had to take care of."

"I figured that," said Hughes. He turned to Neal who also shook his hand. "I hope you didn't completely corrupt my best agent. I'd like to have _both_ of you back."

Neal smiled at the concealed compliment. "Well, sir, we may have done a few things."

"We'll have that hypothetical conversation later," replied Hughes. He looked them all over, his gaze landing on Mozzie in the end. "I've figured out that Elizabeth knew about this; I'm assuming that you did as well?"

"I may have," said Mozzie. "I may have gotten messages from unidentified sources who may have suggested for me to keep quiet and perhaps finally pass on some information to the Bureau."

"Thanks," said Hughes carefully. "I appreciate what you've done."

"Don't think I'm going to make a habit of it," said Mozzie.

"Listen," said Jones. "Before we go inside, how much do you guys know about what O.P.R. is doing?"

"O.P.R.," asked Neal. "We haven't heard anything."

"What's going on," asked Peter.

Everyone else just looked at each other; this would be a problem.

Diana shook her head. "O.P.R. is going to have a field day! Who knows what they're thinking about all of this."

"Will someone explain what's going on," demanded Peter, beginning to get worried.

Hughes held up his hands, and this time, he smiled the most devious smile anyone underneath him had ever seen. "I think I have an idea about how to solve this."


End file.
